We're Misfits, We're Sinners, We're Rotten, Rotten to the Core
by kjay15
Summary: Their hearts were as black as coal, and their battle scars proved how much they could handle; how much they could survive. Villains were all they knew, evil was all they knew how to be. The descendants of some of the most notorious, bloodthirsty, and spine-chilling villains all around. They were the rotten four: the children of Maleficent, Jafar, Evil Queen, and Cruella de Vil.
1. Chapter 1

**So, considering I'm obsessed with Descendants, I've decided to write another story. This time, however, I'm doing something different. Things that happened in both the book and movie will be tweaked a lot. These kids are not the nice-kind of villains they were in the movie, they're evil.**

 **This story is dark, remember that. It has triggers, death, violence, blood, etc.**

 **Oh, and sex. Both straight and gay sex. But for this chapter, you'll have to deal with language, a mental image of Cruella de Vil naked, Jay stripping, and roof parkour. So... yeah. Enjoy.**

* * *

They've never met anyone good. They've never even tried. They were bad. Evil. _Rotten_.

Their hearts were as black as coal, and their battle scars proved how much they could handle; how much they could survive. Villains were all they knew, evil was all they knew how to be. The descendants of some of the most notorious, bloodthirsty, and spine-chilling villains all around. They were the rotten four: the children of Maleficent, Jafar, Evil Queen, and Cruella de Vil. They were feared. And they loved it.

Stone-cold faces, and a colorful disarray of dark colors and dirty clothes. They revealed themselves to the common folk of the Isle, smirks casting fear all around, glaring at each individual that dared glance back. The purple one was in the front, her smirk the most malicious of them all... Her eyes glowed green, and her tendrils of lilac locks swooshed back and forth, framing her killer-cheekbones.

She, the baddest of them all, was the dear daughter of Maleficent. She, the baddest of them all, was the daughter of the Mistress of All Evil. She, the baddest of them all, was the progeny of the one who could control all the powers of Hell.

The daughter of a once-fierce dragon.

She, the baddest of them all, was none other than Mal.

Her "partners in crime," as she liked to call them, were Evie, Jay, and Carlos.

Evie strutted behind the shorter, more menacing, purple-haired girl; her hips swayed left and right, with her hands splayed and holding on tight. She pumped out her chest, watching as bystanders gawked at the femme fatale; a walking goddess in the eyes of other villains. She knew full well how many dreams she inhabited at night, and how many head-turns she attracted. She was the daughter of Evil Queen, who's price possession happened to be a busted-mirror.

Jay stomped across the uneven pavement, clenching his fists and flexing his bare muscles. He heard girls gasp, and boys groan; smirks casted each and every way. His hair bounced off his leather-bound chest, held in place by the blood-red beanie he'd stolen sometime in his prime. His eyes were like obsidian, black and shiny and cunning. He chewed the bottom of his lip, and followed the villainess's lead. He was the son of the Jafar, and he knew where he stood. He, along with his partners in crime, were at the top of the food chain. And he was lusting for some food.

Carlos brung up the back, bound head-to-toe in black and white, with mixes of red that may or may not qualify as blood stains. His dark roots faded to a snowy-white, and his eyes glowed with the almost innocent look a child would have. But there was nothing innocent about him. He was dripping with untapped evil, as the rest of them, too. If anything, he'd be the most maniacal of the four. No one knows what's exactly going on in his head. And he liked it that way. He was the son of the infamous, fur-fetish phenom that once ran a multi-million dollar company, Cruella de Vil.

The four of them reigned terror through the alleyways of the slum-like houses and shantytowns that they called home, they scared every living soul that walked down the streets, giving a new meaning to the words: "Rotten children."

They terrified everyone, except the ones that brought them into this cruel world. They hated their parents, almost as much as their parents hated them.

Love was nonexistent; love was weak, useless...

Who the fuck needed that shit? Princes and Princesses? Fairies and Dwarves?

"Well, well... What do we have here?" Mal's voice was almost as spine-chilling and heart-stopping as her mothers. She pursed her lips together, and observed the people who were blocking her path back home.

"S-s-s-so-so s-s-sorry, M-Mal," a whimpering kid stuttered. He stepped to the right, immediately locking eyes with Jay, who easily forced the small can of soup from his tiny little hands.

"S-s-s-stutter much...?"

Jay grinned at Mal's statement, and draped an arm around her shoulders. He sent daggers at the child, "B-b-beat it, kid."

They watched as his scrawny legs carried him into an alleyway, before turning their attention to the other so-called villains. The way they wore the title, calling these half-assed smelly peasants of filth "villains" seemed morally wrong. But here, morally wrong was morally right.

"Get out of our way," purred Evie, she twirled her luscious blue locks between her fingers as she batted her eyes at the strangers. " _Or else_."

"You better listen," Carlos snickered to them, "she's a biter."

The citizens of the Isle scattered, and the villains went back to their, well, villainous ways. Mal had a knack for design, hence why the island was basically her canvas of all-things-evil. Jay was a sly thief who stole and sold basically everything. He couldn't think of a thing he hadn't already swiped and sold for double as much as the first time he'd got his conniving hands on whatever it was. Evie did what she did best: be drop-dead stunning. She displayed herself in her handheld mirror, ignoring the cracks and missing shards that were caused by years upon years of use. Carlos did small little stunts (nothing compared to Jay's) and basically tampered with everything he managed to get his hands on. He's a mad scientist-in-the-making.

They groaned at the very end, sighing and sweating as the sweltering sun blinded them and shined it's crappy-happy rays of light down on them.

Carlos had peeled off his black and white leather jacket with red sleeves, and Mal had spared her body of the constricting heat her purple and pink and green leather jacket would have caused.

"Let's get the fuck inside already. My balls are sweating." Jay tugged at the front of his leather jeans, "Like, fucking Christ."

"Thanks for the image," spat Evie. "You're a real charmer."

"I'm no Prince Charming, but-" Jay tugged Evie alongside him as he entered Jafar's Junk Shop. Mal cut him off with a elbow jab to the gut.

"Shut up."

Carlos swallowed hard when Iago practically attacked his personal space. The constant wing-flapping and squalling of gold and coins made him want to choke the bird till his winds flapped no more. He merely swatted the flying rat away and listened to it's regretful "Ouch!" when it landed beak-first on the floor.

"I'm not spending my afternoon in your father's smelly shop." Evie brushed her ocean-blue hair off her shoulders, "Let's go on a fucking adventure. Like when we went to get your mother's staff-" she stopped when Mal glared at her.

"The same staff that nearly got us all killed at least ten times, and the same staff that could have potentially trapped you in a thousand-year sleep...?"

"Well, it was still fun."

Mal rolled her eyes, that so-called "adventure" was _not_ fun. Sure, it's the reason they've become such close partners in crimes, and we're feared by many. Hell, she'd call that day the best and the worst day of her life.

"Imagine how much fun we could have terrorizing Auradon—the princes and princesses we'll plunder and steal from, the fairies we'll squash, the castles that we'll burn to the ground." Jay's eyes sparkled; his fist clenched and he stomped his foot. Mal returned his grin and squeezed his muscles.

"If we ever get off this floating shit-hole," she chewed eagerly on her bottom lip, "otherwise what you're imagining will always just be your imagination."

"Exactly. So instead of dreaming about destroying Auradon, we should be going on more fucking adventures. Have some fucking fun." Evie was picking at her nails, "Don't you agree, Carlos?"

The youngest partner in crime merely nodded, his fascination of the broken television sets pulling him out of their conversation.

"See, Carlos agrees."

"No one was disagreeing with you, E."

"You seemed to be," Evie eyed Maleficent's daughter, "still plagued with nightmares from our first adventure?"

Mal rolled her eyes, and averted her gaze to the taller boy, "So, what was today's best score?"

Evie and Mal waited as his hand disappeared in his pocket, and pulled out Ursula's necklace. The black silk of the string dangled from his fingers, holding a small, yellowing-shell with a spiral design.

"Ursula's necklace...?" Mal knitted her eyebrows together, "What's so valuable about that?"

"Couldn't this thing steal voices, or something?"

Jay looked at Evie, figuring she'd know more on the subject than Mal. She nodded, "But that requires magic, and-" she gestured to the dome that surrounded the island outside the dust-covered window, "we don't have any of that."

"We did for a while, though. Remember, Maleficent's staff? Carlos' box thingy that wouldn't shut up... Maybe the magic seeped into this thing, too."

Jay closed one eye and used the other to look inside the shell, seeing nothing but darkness and dust.

"So what if it did? It's meant to steal voices. That's not exactly gonna get us off this island, now is it?" Mal pressed her lips into a fine line, "But maybe we can finally use it to shut some people up."

"Like our parents," Carlos joined the conversation, pulling himself from his squatting position near the busted television sets, and found a spot between Jay and Evie.

Mal snickered, "Or, you know, everyone _but_ us. It's not like we listen to what they say, anyway."

"I don't think this thing has enough juice for everyone but us. If it has any juice at all." Jay wrapped his hand around the shell, and started to shake it. No results (not that he was looking for any.) Evie sighed back into her seat, now resting her head on Carlos' shoulder while he tinkered with the remote he accidentally sat on.

"Well, I'm bored again."

Mal sighed after her comment, clutching the unstuffed-cushion she sat on while tapping her feet on the rotting-wood floors beneath them.

"I'm exhausted," said Evie, pulling out her mirror and running her fingers across her cheeks. She noticed her darkening eyelids and fading cheeks. She made a note to reapply in about an hour or so.

"I'm hot," Jay paused, "I mean, like, sweaty-hot. Well, I'm regular hot, too. But, I meant, like-"

"We got it," Carlos huffed. "Your sweaty and you think you're sexy."

"I don't think, I know."

Mal rolled her eyes at Jay's _lame_ comeback. But she was too tired to make a remark about it. And really, she didn't necessarily disagree with him. Not that she'd ever tell him that.

"Well, if we're not gonna do anything, then I've gotta go back home. And I _really_ don't want to go home." Carlos admitted, "My mother's already pissed because I tripped over one of her furs, like, two weeks ago."

"She's still pissed...?" Evie paused.

The younger nodded, "Her fur got a little dirt on it, while I nearly fell face first into that fur trap of a closet. So, yeah. She's still pissed at _me_."

"No offense, but your mother's a bitch."

Carlos smiled at Mal's statement, "Basically. She doesn't even realize she's calling herself one every time she calls me a 'son of a bitch.'"

"My dad calls me that, and he chuckles to himself every time because then he thinks about my mom, and well, she was apparently a bitch." Jay grinned, Ursula's necklace was still dangling from his fingers, and he had already attempted to see how far his finger could slide inside, got got up to his second knuckle before it got too tight.

Mal was grinning while she watched him, he was completely oblivious to how _dirty_ he looked while doing it.

"I think we can all agree that Evie's the luckiest out of us when it comes to parents." Carlos gave the blue-haired girl a look, perking his lips like she did every time she gazed at herself in the mirror, "All her mother cares about is her looks."

"And how many times she gets laid a day." Jay smirked, and Evie rolled her eyes.

"Not true," she glared at the taller boy, "that's my own agenda."

Mal smirked, partner's in crime they may be, but they were more than that. They weren't friends, no one had those, they were... acquaintances. Her team of ragtags. Her minions.

She was the leader, the daughter of the dragon.

Jay was the brawn. Carlos was the brain. And Evie was the beauty.

"Okay, I've waited long enough. Let's do _something_! Anything, really. I don't care." Carlos has pulled himself off the ratty-old couch, and pulled on his jacket.

"Thank you," Evie huffed, "I wanna go explore more of the island."

Mal groaned and glared at the duo that was now standing before her, Jay was about to stand up alongside them. Ursula's necklace was now dangling from his neck, it didn't suit him at all. She flicked the purple-hair that barely touched her shoulders, and stood up with her partners in crime.

"I say we go to Hell Hall, since Carlos _doesn't_ want to go there. I'm sure there's plenty of rooms and corridors in that mansion we've yet to explore." She smiled when Carlos paled.

"You're a real bitch, Mal."

She smiled, "Finally grew a pair, nice. Took you a while."

"We're not going to my house. No way-"

"Yes way!" Mal gripped his arm, "I wanna see just what the de Vil's are hiding behind all that fur."

"More fur," Jay sighed.

Carlos yanked his arm out of Mal's grip, and ran his hand through his hair. He could already feel the sweat forming on his forehead, _What in Maleficent's name made me want to put this godforsaken jacket back on...?_

"My mother doesn't like visitors."

"And I'm sure the visitors don't like your mother, but that doesn't stop 'em."

"Mal, please-"

She rolled her eyes and stepped closer. Her eyes stared into his, emerald-green against chocolate-brown. Despite being a mere inch or two taller than the de Vil, she was towering above him. Her smirk had vanished, and her hands took hold of his wrists.

"Don't make me," she yanked him closer, "tell you again."

The white-haired boy closed his eyes, and pulled away with a huff. He rubbed his wrists as he turned the other way without a word.

"Let's go," Mal continued, motioning her hands to the front door. "I'd like to get there sometime today."

* * *

Evie and Carlos trailed behind Mal and Jay, flashes of purple and green and red and yellow inches in front of them. Evie snaked smirks and smiles to boys she passed, giving a small wave to a lucky few. Carlos rolled his eyes and trudged alongside her, knowing full-well she wouldn't stop and, if she wanted, would actually stop to have a small chat with one of them.

She was tempted to go stalk over to Anthony Tremaine, Lady Tremain's grandson. But decided against it when Mal and Jay quickened their pace into an alleyway. Carlos followed behind him, and Evie had drifted to the back, avoiding puddles of blood and _other_ liquids, feeling her waves of blue hair bounce and fall from her shoulders.

"We're here," Mal grinned, eyeing the massive mansion that was Hell Hall.

It was arguably the biggest house on the Isle, next to Evil Queen's Castle-Across-the-Way or Maleficent's Forbidden Fortress (a place only they were able to venture far enough into.)

The building was sturdy, plastered with aging and cracking paint, taking on undertones of dark gray and black, some pieces splotched with exposed brick from years of wear and tear. The shingles of the roof were hanging on for dear life, and the porch that wrapped around the building was held together by some nails and scotch tape.

"Lead the way," Mal added, turning to the younger boy. He inhaled, and brushed past her and opened the rusty-gates that lead onto the property. They all grimaced at the godawful sound of the screeching-gate, followed by the sound of the rattling hiss that ended when Carlos closed it behind him.

Mal smiled, and waited patiently for Carlos to step onto the porch. He swallowed hard, and cautiously brought his hand to the massive towering doors that easily stood ten-to-fifteen feet, looming over them like they were mere insects.

"If Mom catches you," Carlos sighed, "you're dead."

"I'll take my chances..." Mal followed behind him as he cracked open the door, and slipped into the darkness. Evie trailed behind her, and Jay went in last, closing the door behind him.

They were met with pitch black, and waited until someone's stray hand wondered the wall and finally found the switch. The lights flickered on, igniting the room in a yellowy-glow. Carlos stepped into the massive living room, his eyes stopped at the giant fireplace and mantle on the main wall, burn-marks faded the once-stark white paint into an ashy-charcoal color. It reminded Evie of Carlos' hair, her eyes wondering up the wall to where it eventually faded back to the aging-white paint, now taking on a more beige-undertone.

"Lead the way, Doggy."

Carlos rolled his eyes at Mal's statement, his jaw clenched and his chest tightened. He never liked his nickname, especially with the awful stories his mother has told him, each one involving the same demon-beast that was known for it's razor-sharp fangs, vicious attitude, and lust for the blood of little boys. _A_ _dog_.

"Stop calling me that," he replied bleakly. Hearing her shrug her shoulders and not acknowledge his request didn't sit easy with him, knowing full-well she would never stop.

They followed the youngest down a corridor, complete with uneven floor-boards and hideous portraits of Cruella de Vil back in her heyday.

"Because that's comforting," Evie whispered to herself, eyeing the portrait of Cruella as she was lounging across her bed, the only clothing on her was a tight-fitting, black and white fur coat. Her breasts remained in full-view, easily scarring her son every time he was forced to walk past it. "She's like a saggy beanbag."

"Gross," Jay whispered behind her. She giggled with him.

They climbed up the narrow staircase that easily carried them up four or five floors, Carlos pushed open the heavy door and revealed another room chockfull of darkness and dread.

"And this place is...?" Mal trudged into the room, noticing the floor was tiled, and there were boarded-up windows at the far end.

"An empty room," Carlos replied. "We can stay in here."

"You expect me to stay in some dingy, old attic-death trap for Goblins-knows how long?" Evie turned to the boy, "It's pitch black in here. What'd you want us to do, play hide n' seek?" Her hands trailed up the sides of her arms, crossing them and glaring at Carlos.

"Relax. There's some lanterns and candles in that closet," he pointed at the door on the other side of the room, "and I was thinking we could talk. You know, get to know a little about each other. Fuck it, maybe even a game of truth or dare?"

"Or Seven Minutes in Heaven?" Mal smirked.

"More like Seven Minutes in Hell," Evie murmured, still hearing the snapping of thousands upon thousands of fur traps all around her. There was no fucking way she was ever stepping foot inside a closet in Hell Hall, ever again. "Let's start with Truth or Dare!"

"Fine," Carlos waved them to sit down on the floor. Mal huffed as she did so, and Jay dropped to his knees and slumped backwards until he was firmly on the ground. Evie whimpered (she hated sitting on the floor), and cautiously took a seat next to Jay. Carlos disappeared inside the closet, they heard him curse when he stubbed his toe, but after a minute or so, he emerged with a plethora of lanterns and candles.

* * *

"Who goes first...?" Jay asked, finally taking his seat after helping Carlos set up the candles and lanterns. The room was still dark, or "moody," as Evie put it. She liked the way the candles flickered and the lanterns made the dust in the air glow and shimmer.

She described it as "A Romanticist's Dream."

Mal described it as "The Stupid Attic."

"I'd say Carlos, he was the one who had the idea." Mal pressed her lips into another fine line, turning her head and facing him, "Carlos, truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Wimp," Mal scoffed, her face darkening as she smiled, "Fine. When was your first kiss, who was it with, and where did it happen...?"

"That's three different questions-"

"Just answer 'em," Jay huffed, "Come on, tell us."

Carlos rolled his eyes, and crossed his legs to get comfortable. His eyes switched from Jay to Evie to Mal, Mal's eyes were particularly _more_ green than usual, and her devilish smile reminded him none other than Cruella de Vil. And he knew she did it on purpose. Why were they friends again?

"Well," Carlos' index finger tugged at the torn collar of his black shirt, while his other hand roamed up and down the leg of his shorts. "My first kiss was... when I was twelve." He blinked and paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he prepared to answer the second and third question. Which he still thought was against the rules. Which, on the Isle, was no surprise.

"...and it was with Ginny Gothel, near that old dried-up fountain near Dragon Hall."

Jay sagged his shoulders, hoping it'd be more interesting. Evie smiled, like usual when it came to anything involving lips touching lips or _Carlos_ touching lips. Mal just smiled, and turned to Evie, "Now Carlos asks you."

She nodded, and before the boy had a chance to act, she was already answering. "Truth, too."

"Okay..." Carlos whispered, and slumped backwards, using his extended arms to keep him up, "out of the three of us," he motioned to himself, Jay, and Mal, "who would you kiss, punch, or fuck?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"You've gotta answer."

She sighed, and slumped her shoulders. She peered at Mal, "I'd punch you."

"Fair enough," the daughter of Maleficent chuckled.

Evie looked from Carlos to Jay, and she bit her bottom lip, "well, I guess I'd fuck Jay and kiss you, Carlos." She looked the youngest partner in crime, "No offense. Too young, for my taste."

Carlos scoffed, "Are you calling me ugly?" He laughed when Evie laughed, her cheeks bloomed red and she bit her lip, now turning to Jay.

"Jay, truth or dare?"

"Unlike you wimps, I'm picking dare."

Evie smiled, and she looked back at Carlos and Mal, both wearing their own devilish smirks and smiles. Jay choked back the uneasiness he felt, suddenly his answer seemed like the wrong one.

"Do a strip tease," the corners of Evie's lips curled upwards, and her eyes fluttered like the wings of a beautiful butterfly, or like those of a stinger-happy hornet.

"Excuse me...?"

"Strip, Jay. Do a strip tease. Just down to your underwear." Evie batted her eyes again, "You did pick dare, after all."

"I hate all of you," Jay sighed, now pulling himself up to stand on both feet.

Mal smiled, "We know."

He rolled his shoulders, and clenched his jaw. He then followed by cracking his knuckles, neck, and flexing his arms. Apparently, he needed to do all this before even peeling off his gloves. He eventually tossed aside the fingerless-gloves, and began to kick off his clunky-boots. He pulled off his beanie, before stripping himself of all the scores he stole on the way here.

"You guys ready...?" He eyed all three, lingering on Carlos.

"Are you...?" Mal asked, almost sarcastically. She snickered, "Show us them muscles of yours."

Jay nodded, his fingers trailed up his sleeveless-leather vest, before slowly pulling the zipper down, giving the three villains on the ground glimpses of his blood-red undershirt, matching the color of his beanie he'd discarded moments before.

"Prepare to be blown away," he mumbled, ripping his vest open and pretending that it was like the most holy and sacred thing anyone's eyes had ever laid upon.

His fingers curled around the hem of his undershirt after he untucked it from his pants, and he slowly peeled the fabric up and up, giving everyone some time to adjust their eyes as he revealed what truly made him a "man-slut," as Mal liked to put it.

Evie's breath was caught in her throat, and Mal went wide-eyed. Carlos' jaw dropped and he shifted in discomfort. Jay smirked as he fixed his hair, the undershirt now laying on the ground next to his vest, gloves, boots, and beanie. Carlos drifted his eyes down to the floor, his cheeks had blossomed almost as red as the sleeves of his jacket, and Evie was chewing on her bottom lip, keeping herself from gasping louder than she did before.

"So...?" He perked up, "Should I keep going, or am I making some people a little too... _red_."

Carlos swallowed hard, and his eyes glared back up at Jay, almost immediately gawking once again at the chiseled-masterpiece that is his partner in crime's chest. Jay's dark eyes went from girl to boy to girl, ending at Mal.

"You look a little, uh, pale there—Mal." He snickered, addressing her white-as-snow cheeks and the ghostly complexion that Evie would nearly have a heart attack over if it was her own face. "Were you expecting rolls of fat to come piling out of my vest once I took it off...?" He glanced at the other two, Carlos' head sagging below his shoulders while Evie's lips had become her new personal snack, biting down on them hard enough to draw blood.

"I-I'm just... getting a weird feeling..." Mal turned to Carlos, "I-is your mom... h-home?"

"Uh, yeah. I think so...? Why?" His arm stretched out and grabbed her shoulder. Jay had started to retrieve his stuff and was already pulling them back on. Evie began to mull over what she thought was one of the _fairest_ chests in all the (is)land.

"I can feel something, l-like, something strange."

"Well, you did eat at Ursula's Fish & Chips this morning, remember? That's where I stole her necklace. Maybe you're just, uh, I don't know, gassy?" Jay was zipping up his vest as he spoke, "Carlos, where's the nearest bathroom-"

"It's not _that_ ," Mal punched his shin from where she sat, before picking herself up and moving over to the door they came from. "I'm sensing six people in the house..."

"How the hell can you sense that?" Evie had stood up, and was following her closely.

Mal wasn't paying attention to her question, she turned to the youngest and asked, "Does your mother have a guest over, or something?" Carlos shrugged, giving a _'Wouldn't Surprise Me'_ kind of look.

"Probably one of her 'Business Partners,'" he made sure to put air quotations around the words: Business Partners. He knew his mother was the go-to-woman when it came to kinky and sinful desires. Her fetish for fur was merely the top of the keep-quiet-and-let-mommy-have-fun-with-her-pets iceberg. He knew he was a result of one of those "Business Meetings" and he knew his father had probably been back for seconds, or thirds, or fourths. He kept an eye out for freckled-fellows with lighter skin and dimples, knowing he didn't get them from the woman he called "Mother."

"I'm gonna ask again. How the hell can you sense how many people are in this place...?" Evie grabbed Mal's shoulder, tugging her. "I mean, there's no magic here. And I'm pretty sure your mother didn't have that power."

Mal breathed in, "I'm not sure. I just know someone else is here. What about Horace or Jasper?"

"They're attached at the hip. Can't have one without the other. Same with their sons. I'm telling you, Mother's with a guy, it's no big-"

"Oh, fuck." Mal hissed, "It's _my mother_."

"Why is your mother with mine?!" Carlos barked, "Fuck, Mal! I knew we shouldn't have come here-"

"Will you shut up? We might not be in trouble, they might not even know we're here." Mal put her ear to the door, listening just in case her mother and Cruella were coming up the stretch of stairs that eventually lead to the attic they were hiding away in.

"Hate to break it to you, Mal; but if you have that weird sense-people power thing, then it's probably a given that your mother has it, too," said Evie.

Jay flocked over to the boarded-up windows, peering through the cracks in the thin wood. "We might be able to climb down."

"We're almost sixty-feet in the air, no offense, but I'd rather not plummet to my death."

The prince of thieves ignored Carlos' statement, "I'm a master climber, we can do it." He paused, berating himself for sounding like the four of them were a team. Which they weren't. "Just don't screw up, and you probably won't die."

"Gee, that's reassuring." Evie huffed, looking from him to Carlos and Mal, who looked just as—if not more—nervous than she did.

"Wanna face their mothers...?" asked Jay, peering at Evie as he pointed to the two villains beside her.

Evie huffed again, and stomped towards him, "Let's do this."

* * *

Without any effort into it, the four villains managed to pry off the wooden board, and peer out of the dusty, almost-blackened glass and see the rest of the island below. Jay practically broke the rusty handle off of it as he opened the window on the verge of shattering with how many cracks he could see. There was a small ledge, the length of a child's foot, jutting out from the wall. Below that, was a sheer sixty-foot drop onto the front lawn of the mansion.

"Please don't die," Carlos whispered to them, and to himself. If one of them slipped and fell he knew he'd be the one to clean up the... _mess_. If he _weren't_ the mess, that is.

Jay was the first to step out onto the ledge, quickly fumbling around before clutching onto the metal bar outlining the window. Thank the Goblins for Gothic Architecture, or Carlos would be peeling a thief off the driveway. He shimmied across, ducking his head under the slanted roof before practically jumping onto the next one... _six_ _feet away_.

Carlos nearly had a heart attack, and he wasn't even the one doing it. Yet.

"Your turn," Mal stated, shoving the back of Carlos' shoulder.

The fourteen-year-old mimicked the huff Evie let out minutes prior, and cautiously stepped onto the window sill, pulling himself through and immediately regretting it. His eyes forced their way down to see the spot his body would surely land if he made one tiny little error. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." he whispered to himself, now sliding his heel across the ledge, edging closer and closer, seeing Jay perched on the ridged-peak of the roof, his legs framing each side as he watched the island below.

"Keep going," the older boy called out, "just jump when you get to the end."

Carlos barely processed or even listened to Jay's advice, he zipped his lips and followed his instincts, and, on the island, that's the only thing you could ever trust. He let out a heavy breath, and bounced off the ledge and crashed onto the roof. Jay gripped his flailing wrists and pulled with all his might.

He hadn't expected Carlos to be so light, he nearly pulled him up and _over_ the peak of the roof. "Thanks," he whispered, quieting down and letting his chest rise and fall as he begged for air to refill his lungs.

"Don't mention it," replied Jay.

Evie was fumbling across, having stripped herself of her heels and clung to the ledge as her socked-feet inched their way over. She jumped, and landed in the boys' arms, where she was quick to thank them, and mimic the way they sat on the ridge. Next was Mal, and despite her stone-cold facial expression, and amazing reflexes, she looked utterly terrified. She jumped across and pulled herself up without help.

"This way," Jay stated, pulling himself backwards, until he was over another section of roof, one with a more gradual slope that lead to an even flatter part. He was firm in his place before he turned around and helped Evie down, wrapping his muscly-arms around her waist and hauling her beside him. Mal dropped down on her own, leaving the youngest of their band of misfits, his legs dangling down and his eyes wide.

Jay stretched out his arms, "I've got you," he mumbled, before gripping the smaller boy's sides and pulling him down. Carlos remained silent, unaware his feet were on top of Jay's, until an uncomfortable cough from the older brought his senses back to him.

He played it off with a goofy grin and a gentle push of the shoulder, but Carlos was left with the butterflies in his stomach swarming around, while Jay had trouble to hide the blushes that colored his tanner cheeks and the blossoming red that crawled up his neck.

Mal dropped to her knees, and rubbed her hands along the shingles, closing her eyes and letting her fingers do their magic.

"She's still here," she bit back a fit of laughter, "and my mother seems to be a little pissed."

"My mother's fault, no doubt."

Carlos peered over the edge after letting the words part from his lips, they were two stories lower now, and he recognized the window across to the other side of the roof. It lead to another empty room, and eventually to a spiral staircase all the way to Carlos' room.

(Or, a closet, as he and his partners in crime called it.)

He'd trail up the stairs during busy nights without his mother around, finding old magazines with his mother on the cover, advertising her clothing line and company, "De Vil Industries." Other memorabilia from Cruella's height-of-power included countless portraits of herself draped head-to-toe with furs of black and white, as well as heaps of old fur and fabrics, untouched for decades.

"Follow me, this leads to my room," Carlos opened the window, cringing with every creak of wood and every rattle of glass.

"You mean your closet?" replied Mal, grinning at the statement. Evie swatted at her shoulder, and gave her the _'Leave Carlos The Fuck Alone'_ glare she had to use often just to shut Mal up. She shrugged past Princess Blueberry, and crawled in after the teen with black and white curls of hair.

Evie climbed through, followed by Jay; who shut it behind him.

"We just have to be quiet. And watch where you step—creaky floors, and, on occasion, a fur trap or two." Carlos whispered plainly, letting the others deadpan and slowly follow his careful steps and lightweight movements. The room was dark, the four clung to the wall like a lifeline, with each's hand grazing the back of the villain in front of them. Carlos led the way, Mal's hand fisted into the black and white fur of his jacket collar, Evie clung to the purple strips of dangling-leather on Mal's back, and Jay's hands tugged gently on the ocean-blue locks.

Carlos wrapped his fingers around a cold knob, jumping a little and causing a small shriek to radiate from one of his partners in crime: Evie. "Sorry..." she mumbled to the three, before Carlos quietly pulled open the heavy door.

One by one, they vanished into the black abyss that was the spiral staircase that would supposedly carry them to Carlos' closet-called-room.

"Some of the steps are, like, crumbly. So... be careful. And if you do fall, try not to bring the rest of us with you." The son of Cruella de Vil snarked. "And don't be loud."

He rolled his eyes at Mal's re-uttering of his words a second later, thinking that she sounded vaguely familiar to Iago the Parrot. His hands rubbed along the drooping-wallpaper, faded overtime so the once-exquisite design weren't even recognizable. Evie felt a small brush of fur along her ankle, and she hiccuped at the thought of a rat, or some animal's carcass after one of Cruella's "midnight-pleasures," or something _far worse_.

She didn't know exactly what could be worse, but she knew Cruella would have the perfect answer if she ever found out.

Jay's eyes were glued to the stone stairs beneath him, narrowly missing cracks and uneven stairs that made him question how the three villains in front of him walked down without problem. He could barely get a visual of the white tufts and curls upon Carlos' head, and only saw the flashes of the purple tendrils of hair bouncing off her leather-clad shoulders. Evie was in plain sight, as his nose was practically _an inch_ from nestling into the locks of her hair, now swaying back and forth with every step; much like his own as he stepped down.

"Here," Carlos stopped, feeling Mal's grip on his collar tighten as she almost fell on top of him. "Welcome to my humble abode..."

The door pressed open, and Carlos disappeared inside. Mal followed, Evie entered, and Jay wafted through the threshold, observing the room that seemed to get smaller and smaller with every visit. Cobwebs hugged the corners, stretching across and slowly waving at them by the vent blowing in air behind it.

"Now what?" Mal questioned, "How do we get out...?"

"There's a tunnel. It's been closed-off for years after I tried sneaking out."

"Your mom caught you?"

Carlos felt the scars tingle, before giving a firm nod. He gripped an old rusty door, pulling it and letting it's screeching sound deafen the four; his tongue slithered across his bottom lip as his muscles tightened, pushing it open about two feet before bowing out from exhaustion. "Down this hall, there's an old wine cellar; past that is the tunnel."

"We better move fast, 'cause there's no fucking way our mothers didn't hear that," Mal snapped, glaring at him. "So, c'mon, hurry!"

She pulled Evie by her wrist, and allowed Jay to grip her forearm to follow closely. Carlos remained behind, glancing over his shoulder to take a final look, not knowing if this would be his last visit.

All his inventions remained in the tree house towering above his backyard, and Beelzebub—his loyal, evil cat-sidekick—was probably wondering around the mansion somewhere, hiding from his mother and causing mischief wherever she played. Hopefully, he'd get to see her and his inventions again. They were all he had.

"You comin' or not?" Jay gripped his shoulder, and whirled him around.

Carlos' stomach flipped and he nodded quickly, he pushed past the older boy and followed the girls into the cellar, now filled with empty barrels and dust and cobwebs.

"Here," Carlos gripped the edges of a plank of wood, nearly twice the size of himself and tightened to the stone-brick walls with nails as thick as his thumbs and as long as his forearm. "Help me pry this off, and then we just need to pull apart the stones she piled up."

"Seriously? Your mom did all of that just so you wouldn't be able to sneak out...?" questioned Evie, her mind dizzying from the moldy air and smell of two-decade-old wine.

He nodded, "That's my mommy. Over-dramatic. Scary. And a fucking sociopath."

"Don't forget, she's got a wicked fur-fetish," Mal added, almost comically. Her grin wasn't matched by the other three, receiving glares instead. Jay was practically bleeding concern for Carlos, _not that anyone would know._ Or _could_ know _._

Concern was for the people of Auradon. The _good_ people. And he _wasn't_ a good person.

"Yeah... wanna help?" His fingers trailed down the sides of the wood, almost anticipating the splinter he would surely get. His lips quivered at the question, and his eyes focused in on the only other guy, the macho one. Evie wouldn't dare risk breaking a nail and Mal simply didn't have the upper body strength. Not that Carlos did. But it was his house. He had to be the one to do it. With Jay.

The thief gripped the other side, and with strained-and-veiny foreheads, plus a litter of curse words thrown through the air, they managed to pry off the board and send it tumbling to the ground with a firm _snap_.

It'd broken it half, with Jay's splintery-end hanging from his fingers while Carlos' rested at his feet. Jay dropped his piece and looked into the blackness of the hallway, glaring at the walls draped in layers of dust and vines. His shoulders widened, and his jaw rolled into a tight clench, before stepping one foot in, giving a final look at the de Vil, and ghosting away into the darkness.

Mal kissed the ends of the purple-leather, high collar on her jacket, and followed the taller boy.

Evie gripped the heart-shaped ruby dangling from her neck, and after giving a small smile to Carlos, she stepped forward and disappeared into the daunting darkness that seemingly began to creep out, inch by inch, into the cellar. Carlos shuttered, and gave one final look.

He prayed he'd never come back. But he knew he would. _He always did._

With a toxic gasp of wine-soaked air, Carlos, too, vanished into the blackness.

* * *

 **Whelp, that's it for now. More Carlos-centric that I initially planned it to be, but hopefully you liked it anyway. Tell me in the reviews (if I'm lucky enough to get any) what you thought of the chapter length—good or bad? Do you like long chapters?**

 **I'd appreciate any input; good or bad, constructive or plain rude—I'll take all of it.**

 **Thanks for reading, and hopefully, with a little luck, you'll stick around long enough for Chapter Two.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Oh boy, oh boy... The amount of positivity this story got was amazing! Thank you, thank you, _thank you_! You cannot believe how much that made me smile and grin like an idiot. ;) **

**I was also informed that you'd like a second chapter, and, well, ta-da!**

 **Hopefully it's a good as you guys made the last chapter out to be, (still smiling!), and hopefully it'll receive the same great feedback.**

 **Heed this warning: Carlos and Mal are mean in this chapter. Feelings are hurt. There's blood and unconsciousness. Jay and his "private time." Dragon vs Dog.**

* * *

Jay blinked—his eyes invisible compared to the glowing green ones that stalked and followed, forced to hear Mal's groaning and moaning about lack of light, claiming this as the reason she was the palest of the four, and claiming Carlos was blatantly at fault for getting caught all those years ago...

He gripped the vines that coated and hid the stone walls behind; stepping courteously over the layers of vines and moss and rocks that covered the floors, driving Evie into an panicked-state with her heels that ended up getting caught ever few seconds.

The cold air made his muscles tighten, his chest shrink and his breath glow a ghostly white, not that he could see it. Mal's eyes barely qualified as flashlights, more or so looking like two green-glowing lightning bugs that followed them around. She remained close, her breathing never leaving his side—feeling her hands grip his wrist when a certain vine snatched her foot or she feared she was sinking in the thick moss that seemed to inch it's way closer the more they walked.

Carlos' hands had gripped onto Evie's, glancing back now and then just to reassure himself the woman draped in black and white wasn't following.

"How much further," the girl dressed in blue nudged her forehead against the younger boy, her lips grazing his cheek for a mere second, enough to make both of their cheeks blossom in color. She stumbled awkwardly, practically ripping the invading vine from her heel.

"I don't know. It's been so long. I didn't think it'd be this overgrown." His words were fast, like his breath was sacred and it needed to be preserved; saved for a more important time and place.

She nodded, despite the lack of light for him to even see.

Oh, how she wished her magic mirror had the power to grant light. But sadly, the mirror was not magic, nor ever would be, again. Unless she finds a way off this goddamn floating hellhole.

Her blood boiled, anger quickly setting in. Her mother always told her she had a temper, resulting in hours upon hours of a game titled: "Mirror Time." Evil Queen would strap her to a chair, place a mirror inches from her face, and continue to throw insults, slurs, and drenched the girl in dirty water before ripping her clothes off and forcing her to look at her ugly body. Her body: a burden altogether, a mistake created by the being that watched from high above, a piece of trash only suitable for the scum of the Isle, and no prince. She was not and never would be worthy enough for that.

"E-Evie—" Carlos flinched, his fingers throbbing as she bent them back on reflex, he tugged away quickly, holding them to his chest.

She swayed, squinting as she saw his eyebrows knitted together, and she mentally smacked herself. She was sorry—deeply sorry. But she couldn't admit that. She was a villain, after all.

"Suck it up," she rolled her eyes, hoping he didn't see, before she trudged forward, leaving him.

Jay's hands came to a stop in front of himself, his fingers followed the curves, the holes and dents in the rock wall, piled together in an effort to prevent Carlos from _ever_ escaping Cruella's clutches again.

"I think we're here," he said to no one in particular. Mal's smaller figure appeared beside his, gripping and clawing at the wall like he did.

"Let's do this," she inhaled deeply. Evie's silhouette joined her, while Carlos crammed on the other side with Jay. They heaved, pushed, pulled, shifted, and outright tackled the wall of rocks down.

It took nearly twenty minutes, but it eventually worked.

Nighttime had taken over the land, engulfing the grounds beyond the tunnel in utter darkness. Evie was particularly happy about that, able to put off the impending sight of what her hair, skin, and clothes must look like after the hell of a day she just had.

Her mother would easily bring back "Mirror Time" if she got a good look at her.

"Where are we? Are we still on de Vil property?" Mal's voice was low, just in case they _were_ still on de Vil grounds.

"No," Carlos huffed. "We're closer to Evie's house than mine, now."

Evie tensed, a flash of her mother's poison apple blinding her for a second, despite not mattering with the sheer black that surrounded them. She curled her delicate fingers around the hemline of her leather skirt, printed and painted with Mal-esque designs and curse words every villain used on a daily-business.

Her fingernails had darkened from electric blue to a more smokey-gray, same for her hands, now littered with marks and scratches from the vines in the tunnel.

"We need to find a place to stay the night. Creeps are probably lurkin' around, just waiting for idiots like us to come walking along." Mal huffed, her hand grazing the opposite leather arm of her jacket, "I'd rather be safe than sorry."

"You—safe?" questioned Jay, lightly brushing her shoulder. "That's not the Mal we know."

"That's because _none_ of you know me."

Her voice was on the line of bitterness, and she turned, facing no one in particular, and chewed on the inside of her cheek, waiting for them to start fucking moving.

"Is it _that time_ of the month, M?" Evie cringed, feeling the sting of Mal's fist after colliding with her shoulder. "Ouch."

They trudged further, feeling the uneven and cracked concrete eventually taper off into gravel, crunching and shifting under their weight, and _once again_ making Evie wish she never wore her heels. Carlos lingered next to Jay, hearing his heavy breaths and seeing the shine of his muscles from the moonlight. They had turned from dark shadows in the even larger shadow of Hell Hall, to the young villains basked in black and blue, staring clearly up at the full moon that had been hiding away behind dark clouds until now.

"Isn't there a warehouse up ahead...?" Jay coughed, glancing at the two who knew this part of the Isle best. Carlos nodded, seeing Evie wait for his reply. _He_ knew more than her when it came to those things, you wouldn't have a keen grasp on geography if forced to hide away in a castle for ten years. He didn't expect Evie to know, he knew she was smart, especially in Mad Science class, but she'd never trade her looks over something as useless as knowledge. "Beauty _is_ power." That was her motto. And Carlos could never muster up the courage to tell her she's wrong. Tell her she's the most gorgeous girl his fourteen-year-old eyes had ever seen. Tell her, tell her over and over again, that beauty is _not_ power. Tell her that knowledge _is_.

But that'd crush her... just like how she nearly crushed his fingers... and didn't even apologize...

"Evie," Carlos' voice broke the silence that descended after he answered Jay's question with a firm nod. She turned to him, her lips pursed together. "Don't flatter yourself."

"W-what?"

Jay and Mal swallowed, lingering behind the two when Evie moved closer to Carlos, confused.

"You're not gorgeous. You're not a princess. Fuck, Evie. You're not even 'Mirror-Material.'" The words left his lips, and he smiled. It felt good, just to see her eyes water and her cheeks pale. It even felt good when she glanced back at Mal and Jay, the hurt evident all over her face.

She choked, coughed loudly, sputtering and letting the tears roll down her cheeks.

But then he blinked, and, seeing the damage he'd done, quickly tensed. He stepped back, feeling the gravel crunch from under his foot while Evie ran a rag under her eyes, gifted to her by Jay moments before, pulling it from his back-pocket while glaring at _him_.

Jay's glare made his chest tighten, and his arms went numb. His raccoon-shadowed eyes and his clenched jaw was enough to make Carlos grow his own tears.

"I-I'm sorry—Evie. I'm so s-sorry... I didn't—"

Evie whirled around, "Say that to the palm of my hand, asshole."

Mal gasped at the _sheer sound_ of Evie's hand meeting Carlos' cheek. The sound of Carlos' gasp and cough as he dropped to his knees, no doubt scratching and dirtying his shorts and exposed-calves. Evie clutched her hand, twirling her other fingers around in the blood that laced across her trembling hand, adding one last one: "I'm going home."

Carlos whimpered, "I-I'm s-s-so s-sorry—"

His hands were clutching his cheek, the taste of metal lingering in his mouth, on his lips, dribbling down his chin. Carlos, through his blurred vision, saw the heels disappear into the night, crunch of gravel after crunch of gravel...

* * *

"Where have you been?!" Evil Queen's voice boomed and echoed, much like Maleficent's would, but to Evie, her mother's was far more terrifying. Her plump figure rose off the throne in the center of the room, complete with stands of rusted armor along the walls and windows draped with moth-eaten and almost-shredded tapestries from the lands of Auradon.

"O-out, Mother."

The Queen bellowed, cackled if anything. She stepped down from her personal dais, still looming over her daughter, who'd been shaking and sniffling ever since she walked through the front gates of her Castle-Across-the-Way.

"Out, you say? Don't tell me you were out with those... _wannabe's_. Oh, Evie. Tell me I've taught you better than that." Her eyes widened at the sight of Evie's make-up. "Good Goblins, Evie! What in Merlin's name happened to your face?!"

The girl stepped back, her lip quivering and her shoulders squishing closer together.

"What happened to the beautiful girl I _thought_ I raised?!" She added, screaming so loud it would scare the Goblins away—not that they had anywhere to go.

"M-Mother—"

"Go! Get out of my sight! Go—go take a shower! Clean off the filth that is your wretched and vile face."

"I w-will. I-I am."

The woman calmed, " _H_ excellent."

Evie nodded blankly, running her hands down her sides as she faltered back and stepped out of the room. Her hand wouldn't stop stinging, the slap to Carlos seemingly hurt _her_ more than it hurt _him_.

She knew why he said it. It was all true, every last detail.

She was never gorgeous, and never would be. She'll never, ever, be a princess. And she could only dream of ever being beautiful enough to even _glance_ at herself in the mirror.

She was a freak. A hideous, castle-schooled freak. Carlos knew her secret, knew what she was. Just like how she knew who he was.

He was the abused dog that begged for someone to let him in.

She was that someone to him.

 _But right now, all she wanted to do was slam the door in that abused dog's face and smile at it's whimpering and scratching on the outside, never to be let in._

 _But then again... everyone else was outside... but her._

* * *

"Dude, what the hell happened back there? I mean, like, when we were playing that stupid game in your stupid attic, she stated, word for word, that you'd be the one she'd kiss, while Jay—"

"Got the good stuff," the thief snickered, cutting off Mal before getting a solid hit to the stomach in return.

"—the point is, what happened since then? I mean, the only kiss you got was from the palm of her hand, and I doubt that's what either of you wanted. Don't get me wrong, I fucking loved it. Especially when you both started crying, but, seriously... what happened?"

Carlos groaned, turning slightly and facing the giant rusted-door that led back out to the sleeping darkness, hiding the perverts and rapists that no doubt were peering in on them, listening... enjoying...

"I don't know. I just got mad." He faced the floor, kicking up a wave of hay, which littered the ground all around them. The warehouse was big, filled with old machinery Carlos couldn't help but gawk at and study. All Jay could see were hiding places and death traps, maybe a few parkour challenges here and there. Mal's eyes were traveling around as well, eyeing the ceiling that threatened to cave-in on them, the support beams would barely survive a strong gust of wind by this point.

So, in other words, it was just like home.

Jay's kleptomania, a term Carlos used once before when describing the tallest partner in crime, was practically bouncing off the walls. Old manuals, broken machine parts, gloves, a welding mask... it was a thief's real-life wet dream.

And Mal was the first to mention the sudden _stretch_ of Jay's leather pants as his dark eyes wondered from potential score to potential score...

He shrugged, tugging at the bulge before disappearing behind a larger machine, hidden by the shadows. Mal moved closer to Carlos, who's reason for insulting Evie were a little too vague for her taste. Her arm cupped his shoulders, stretching across them and pulling him into her heap of purple leather and hair. He squirmed, she shifted, and both sighed contently. Jay's groans and moans from behind the machine were the only thing that lingered in the air.

"So, did Evie somehow strike a cord with you? Make a little crack in that big fat vat of evil that's built up inside you?" Mal whipped her hair around, "accidentally" hitting the de Vil with the swirls and knots of her lilac locks.

A homage to Evie, if anything.

"Why do you care? It's not like you give a shit about me. Today's evidence of that." His voice was heavier than how he usually carried it.

"—Because I made you go home. Right." She rolled her eyes, and glanced down at their feet, dangling a few inches off the hay-covered ground as the box under them continued to creak and bend under their weight.

"Mal, if my mother caught you—she'd be angry at _me_ , not you. She'd throw your asses out, and I'd be the one to get punished. And I'm sick and tired of being the one to get punished."

"So what? You get punished. Big fucking deal. My mother's pissed at me pretty much twenty-four-seven. Even when I'm fucking terrible and as evil as I can be. It's never enough. Next thing I know I'm being silenced and shunned for the next week. It's the Isle life, Carlos. We all have to live with it. Except those fucking Auradonians; their parents are never disappointed in them because they're so fucking perfect in their fucking palaces because being the kid of someone who decided to be boring and 'good', like, twenty-something years ago apparently makes them fucking royalty."

"Not all of us _just_ get silenced and shunned for a week, Mal." Carlos closed his eyes, "Not all of us have mothers who want us to be as evil as we can be."

Her arm had fallen from his shoulders and their eyes had found the others, green against brown, pale cheeks against freckled ones. Her eyes wondered, noticing the small scar at the tip of his eyebrow, hidden in the corner and unnoticeable unless he'd sit still for more than a minute, and with Carlos, that was practically impossible. Except when he slept, Mal knew from a recent "sleepover" of sorts at Evie's Castle-Across-the-Way (without Evil Queen's knowledge, mind you) that Carlos didn't snore, didn't shift, hell, he even had a small smile when he slept. His eyes twitched occasionally, usually when his smile faded and the rising and falling of his chest grew quicker and more random.

Nightmares were a part of growing up on the Isle. No one could help that. Mal didn't dare to help or try and wake the boy, she just watched as it played out. She closed her eyes when she saw the tears running down his cheeks, knowing that if she didn't see it, she could pretend it wasn't happening and that he was having normal, Isle-like nightmares. Like they all had. Nothing more, nothing _worse_.

"Carlos—"

"Don't pity me. Evie pitied me, and look what that got her."

Mal sagged her shoulders, her confused look growing while his face hardened—his jaw clenched and his eyes averted to his hands, now rubbing up and down the sides of his legs.

"I'm not pitying you. Do you honestly think I care if your mother is worse than mine? Do you honestly think I care if you have it worse than I do? Carlos, kid, I don't pity you. I'm the daughter of Maleficent, who, by the way, is the fucking Mistress of All Evil, the dragon that plagued and cursed Sleeping Beauty; so, no. I don't pity you. And don't you ever fucking try to threaten me. 'Cause my mother isn't the only dragon around these parts."

Her eyes glowed the signature green of her family line, and at that moment she could tell her mother might've been proud of her. She pulled her weight off the box, kicking up the hay and stepping forward. But Carlos' voice stopped her, and her body froze at the words he dared utter:

"Haven't you heard, Mal? Dragons are fucking _extinct_."

* * *

Evie tightened her grip, feeling her body compact into itself, her legs bared against her stomach, knees pressing against her breasts while her chin dug itself between while her heavy, sopping-wet hair hid her face. The pelting of ice-cold water finally taking the stench of low-life hoods and useless commons off of her and letting the nose-scrunching smell of her mother's perfumes coat and embrace her soapy skin.

" _Don't_ _flatter yourself._ _You're not gorgeous. You're not a princess. Fuck, Evie. You're not even 'Mirror-Material.'_ "

She gasped at the pain, sending the side of her head into the already-cracked and broken gray and sea-foam-colored tiles of her shower. Another gasp... another gasp... followed the crunch of a newly-formed crack.

Evie clutched the side of her head, feeling the cool, crimson liquid seep down her neck and run along the muscles of her back.

Her skin had began to glow a light hue of blue, and her fingers and toes refused to move, her lips chattered together and made cracking-sounds every time she smiled as her hands continued to grow more and more bloody with every touch and feel of her head. Her hair was resembling Mal's, fading to a crimson-purply look that made her heart flutter.

Mal... the Malicious.

Carlos... the Callous.

Jay... the Spiteful.

She couldn't think, the throbbing pain resinating from her wound growing too much. Her eyes grew heavy, and her grip on her legs had lessened. Her knees fell, and her body exposed to the ice-cold wave of water. She shivered and shifted, and with a small smile, she let the darkness _finally_ take her in...

* * *

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You heard me, and you know it's fucking true." Carlos slid off the box, moving closer. His grin had grown, and his eyes had sparkled like the way when he's finally figured something out. But instead of a science question in class, or a solution to one of his inventions, it was Mal.

He'd finally figured her out.

"My mother and I—"

" _Aren't_ dragons."

Mal looked him up and down, "Earlier, when you stood up to me, I thought you'd finally grown a pair. But now, you're just being a fucking idiot. You're pushing your luck, de Vil. Don't forget who you were before Jay and I—"

"Needed _my_ help?"

"Stop interrupting me, Carlos."

"Or what...? Is your mighty dragon-form gonna show itself? Or are you gonna stay the same pathetic fairy you always were?"

"At least I'm not a result of a fur-fetish."

"Right—you're a result of the fact your mother, the mighty dragon you claim her to be, couldn't defend herself against those three men."

Mal's face darkened, letting the streams of purple fall from the top of her head, drooping over her eyes before she turned, facing away from him. She swallowed—closing her eyes and blinking back the tears that stung her eyes.

"You really are evil." She chuckled, "Who would've guessed?"

"No one. That's because _none_ of you know me."

"Stealing my lines, now?"

"—Merely stating the truth, you think you know everything about me. You're wrong. You, Jay, Evie... none of you know what I go through. Trust me, none of you _want_ to know what I go through."

"You're really milkin' this 'mother's abuse' thing, huh? What—did you think just because you supposedly have it harder at home, it would automatically make _us_ , the next generation of pure evil, feel sorry for you? We were groomed to be as evil as we can be. We don't feel sorry for people. We don't help people. We hurt them. Just like you did to Evie."

"Leave Evie out of this."

"Why? Is someone feeling sorry for her...? Is someone regretting the actions they committed?"

"You're being a bitch, Mal."

"I'm merely stating the truth... Besides, you're the one who started this drama. You forget, _I'm_ the daughter of Maleficent. Who's basically the greatest villain to ever disgrace the earth. While your mother...? Please, she's a fucking joke. And so are you."

"You know my mother could kill you."

Mal sagged her shoulders, "Except we both know she won't, because of who my mother is. But my mother, she can kill you, and guess what? Your mother, the only thing she'd miss about you is the fact you're her slave. Her pathetic little slave."

Carlos chewed the inside of his cheek, and slowly closed his eyes. Mal was right, he was just a slave in his own home, to his own mother. He'd never be important, be relevant to his mother's life, and he'd never be as evil as the girl who stood before him, glaring daggers at him while he turned into the coward he was and kept his eyes firmly on their feet, laced in clumps of hay that gathered from each stomp and shift they made.

"You're going to slap me, aren't you?" He coughed, his hands gripping the ends of his jacket.

"Thinkin' about it. But then again, I'm not Evie. My bark seems to have brought you back to your place, so I don't think my bite is really necessary."

"Just have to make it about a dog, don't you?"

"At least I didn't mention the fur traps—oh. Oops."

"Go to Hell."

"I've been, remember? My mother controls it."

"And look how far she's fallen. And I don't mean the cliff she actually fell from. You know, in her supposed fire-breathing dragon-form. By a prince, no less."

"A _sword to the heart_ defeated my mother. Yours was beaten by some puppies and a fucking skunk, and—now that I've thought about it—is actually what you look like. A bloody skunk."

She grinned, seeing his face falter and his words fall flat. She'd won.

Her shoulder brushed against his as she passed him, adding: "Don't mess with the daughter of the Mistress of All Evil."

* * *

Evie gasped, her head reeling off the cold surface of the watery tiles, her chest heaved, coughed and sputtered as her hands gripped and clawed the side of the tub. Her legs kicked, slamming her right ankle into the rusty faucet while her other assaulted the dark and moldy curtains that seemingly trapped her inside the shower. Her neck craned, the dry blood cracking and crunching with every muscle movement, she reached up and nursed the bloody wound next to her temple, biting back throbbing sobs of pain that racked her body and made her fingers go numb. The water, now merely drips of ice at this point, still soaked and lathered her body, looking shiny and new, apart from the blood.

"C-Carlos!" She shrieked, her lips chattering together and peeling apart. She heaved herself over the edge of the tub, landing in a firm snap as her wet self collided with the stone-slab floor. "Mal—fuck." She curled her hand up to her chest, peeling herself off the floor with a quick popping sound. "Jay-ay."

Evil Queen's voice shrieked back, "Evie! Oh, my princess! Evie, darling!"

The plump woman fell to her knees, gripping her daughter and covering her frail and bluish-body with the drape of her dress.

"M-Mom-my...?"

"Yes, darling. Mommy's here, Mommy's here." She cooed, kissing the bloody forehead and giving a small smile to the barely-lucid teenager. "You're going to be alright, Princess. Do you hear me? You're going to be fine."

"M-my friends—I w-want my f-frien-friends—"

"Oh, darling. You don't need those low-life's. Besides, weren't they only your _partner's in crime_?"

Evie swallowed, coughing violently before glancing up into the dead eyes of the woman who'd given birth to her. Her face had darkened, showing off the ugliness the Queen so-desperately tried to hide away; to conceal with layers upon layers of concealer and make-up.

She felt the cold embrace of her mother's fingers cup her jaw, feeling her nails gloss over her wet cheeks, before she let the sweet, sweet embrace of darkness take over her body once again, hearing the fainting screams and panics of her mother...

...before everything went silent.

* * *

"Why is Carlos pissed?" Jay stepped into Mal's line of sight, pulling her away from staring as the rats scurried and scavenged on the floor. It reminded her of themselves, coincidentally. Her eyes looked into the obsidian ones, feeling their all-too-familiar glare.

"He started it. I finished it."

Jay rolled his eyes, "—And that's all you have to say on the subject?"

"I put him back in his place. You of all people should know when to and when _not_ to dare the dragon to a duel. He asked for it. I gave it to him. Simple." Her eyes averted back to the ground, slowly but surely crawling back up his legs and stopping at his crotch. "Glad to know you're time away from us did you well."

"Mal—" Jay stepped closer, and the girl slammed her palm to his chest.

"Don't make me teach you where your place is, too."

He sighed, coughing and biting on his lip. He shifted back, a little too far for Mal's liking, his warmth had left her, and that's when she regretted what she did. She liked to push, push people away so she could be all alone and prove to herself that she really was the baddest of them all—she just didn't know that pushing so much, pushing too far away, would leave her cold and alone.

Jay had already left her side, stalking back over to Carlos, who'd done nothing but cradle the fur tail he'd had hanging from his belt for as long as she could remember.

She couldn't remember one thing on her that she had for as long as she could remember. Not one, single solitary thing.

* * *

"That was quick," Carlos whispered, tugging at the tail, "did Mal shun you, too?"

Jay smiled, practically beamed. For some utterly strange reason, Carlos, no matter the situation, would always be the one to get the biggest smile out of him. He was known for his smirks and rather rough-nature that the girl's of the Isle thought fondly about, and after some "run-in's" with a few of them, the girl's weren't as much talking and thinking about it, as to _moaning_ about it.

"She thinks she's boss, that'll never change."

His hand gripped the boy's shoulder, tugging him forward. Carlos pressed his lips into a thin line, swallowing hard and letting his Adam's Apple bob up and down. Jay smirked,

 _he was standing on his feet, again._

"S-sorry..." Carlos fumbled aimlessly, stepping over and off and back on before he just jumped back in a huff, feeling the redness crawl up his neck and fade into his cheeks. His hands were buried deep in his jacket pockets, eyeing the combat boots his own feet had seemingly decided to step on at any given moment. "That was a-an accident."

"I'm sure it was," Jay grinned, "just like how stealing this," he raised his hand, letting the fur tail dangle from his fingers, "was an accident, too."

Carlos looked down at his hip, and quickly snatched the tail from Jay's fingers, snapping it back into place with a pouty-look plastered to his face. He eyed the thief, "Was it really that easy?"

"I do it all the time, and still manage to sneak it back on before you notice."

The blushing was back, and neither of them could hide it. Jay turned slightly, seeing Mal's slumped posture as she leaned against some machine, her face was dark from where she stood, and he couldn't tell if she was even awake or not. He turned around to face Carlos, just in time to miss the silvery line roll down Mal's cheek.

"So," Carlos rubbed the back of his neck, "we never actually got to give _each other_ a truth or dare..."

Jay smiled, "I guess we never got the chance. And seeing as we'll probably stay here all night, there shouldn't be any harm in playing a few rounds." He sagged his shoulders, "Carlos... truth or dare?"

* * *

 **Alrighty... so that's that chapter. It's still an amazement to me that you all seem to like this story, and it's even an amazement to me that there's been such love in the reviews! Thank you, thank you, thank you!**

 **If you're wondering where on earth are my other updates for other stories, DO NOT WORRY! They shall be updated soon!**

 **Hopefully, this chapter lived up to the first. Hopefully, the characters seem a lot more interesting now with a little bit of conflict between them. Hopefully, you still like this story enough to support it all the way through to the end (which I have absolutely no idea for, at the moment.)**

 **Also, question: Should an Auradon scene occur next chapter? Yay or Nay?**

 **Okay, thanks for reading, and maybe I'll see you again next chapter? Please?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Guys, Gals, Heroes, Villains... I have gathered you here just to thank _you_ for the amazing, heart-warming support you and many others have shown for this story. **

**_And we're only on the third chapter..._ (Totally not smiling like a goof.) **

**You guys overall, really seemed to enjoy Carlos showing more of his darker side, (though, being directed at Evie, _that's_ what most of you didn't like.) And you also wanted to know about Evie's condition before anything even remotely related to Auradon was even mentioned. So, I listened. ;) **

**HEED THIS WARNING: Major story-set-up happening. A _Bal_ dream/premonition/vision-thing. New characters you would already know if you'd read the prequel book and watched the short animated videos. Mal and her orgasms. Kings and Queens. Jay strips, _again_. Oh, and implied abuse as well as on-screen(?) rape. Btw, this chapter is _insanely_ long... my bad.**

* * *

Mal swallowed, her neck stretching and her closed-eyes twitched. She shook, sweat clung to her skin, making her slick and as shiny as the golden rays of sunlight that bled into the warehouse through the holes, cracks, and openings scattered around. Purple strands of hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks, layering it's tendrils on the curves of her neck, staying firm in places the sweat had built up. Her legs curled, and she hid her face in her arms, now casting above her head as the sunlight seemingly burned through her closed eyelids and blinded her momentarily.

She stirred awake, sitting upright and crossing her arms. Out of breath—cue the yawning fits. Her green glare sparkled, and she wiped the sweat from the back of her neck, before she ran a stray hand through her hair that made her feel just about a thousand-times better.

Her back hurt like hell, feeling the knots and hardened muscles tighten. She'd grown used to sleeping on hard surfaces—her bed, included—and grown used to the morning aches and pain. "Something that would make her stronger," her mother liked to say, often in times when Mal could barely shift a few feet before keeling over in pain, and thus, creating _even more_ pain.

She let her eyes adjust to the light and wonder around the space; spotting Jay was easy, spread across the still-conveyer belt, letting his arms dangle off the sides, and letting drool stain his cheek and chin; Carlos wasn't in view. He'd either already left after waking up, or was knocked out somewhere behind one of the machines, or behind her—she didn't care to look with the back pain.

Her mind reeled, trying to remind herself what day it was and if she should bother trekking to school. She plainly told herself that it was just a "Second Sunday."

Evil Schemes and Mad Science class could wait.

She had business to attend to.

* * *

Dr. Facilier was no good man, nor even a real doctor. He was an evil, some say deadly, bokor. His eyes glowed purple, matching the crystal ball of his cane that continued to shimmer against the golden-yellow rays that shined upon the island. He grimaced, the sight of the Castle-Across-the-Way enough to bring back horrible visions his now-worthless tarot cards could have never warned him about.

His title as "doctor," the only one on the Isle, forced him to be the one-to-go-to in medical emergencies. Every child, every birth... all of whom he aided with.

Evil Queen was no friendly woman, and with a mix of hormones, and the pain of childbirth, he would say she reminded him of his mother, from one cruel individual to the other, _he hated his mother_. He warned her to never have another child, for fear of her dwindling health, and the fact she'd _never_ lose the baby weight.

Needless to say, Evie didn't have any younger brothers or sisters.

The Shadow Man, as some called him, stepped up the crumbling stairs and gently knocked on the rotting-doors, feeling the wood chip and crack with every blunt of force. A smirk graced his lips—he could hear Evil Queen's stomps as she ran to the door.

"Finally!" She gasped, clearly out of breath. The door creaked and groaned as she joggled with the handle in an effort to pull and keep it open, she ushered him in, and let the heavy wood screech back into the front threshold. "S-she's this way, f-follow me."

Dr. Facilier did as ordered, eyeing the castle and noticing the differences sixteen years had made. More candles and mirrors decorated the spacious rooms, less furniture than he could remember, and there seemed to be an endless number of passageways scattered through the castle. Evil Queen stopped in front of a door, dazzled with etchings of crowns in the wood, looking as if a six-year-old had carved them.

"Her room, I presume...?" He spoke in a whisper, and waited for the woman to nod.

His long, slender fingers wrapped around the knob, hearing it rattle in his grasp as he turned it, before pushing forward and letting his eyes adjust to the black of her room.

The curtains were drawn, and the only flicker of light was from the candle Evil Queen had propped in her hand, stepping in behind the voodoo-master, and placing it on a protruding stone from the wall. His mulberry-colored eyes shifted over to the lump on the bed, waves of blue hair hung freely off the mattress, coming from under the layers of thick covers.

"Evie, darling—Dr. Facilier is here..." Evil Queen shook the figure, "—to help, Princess. He's here to _help_."

He smirked, seeing the mass of blankets shift and contort, shaking the bed and letting the Evil Queen calm her grabby-hands. A hand stretched out from the covers, and Dr. Facilier was quick to snatch it before the plump woman could.

His cane was resting against the bed as he took a gentle seat next to the lump, his hands cupping the smaller and paler one, drawing skull faces on her palm with his own finger. He blinked—her fingers laced with his own, and he heard a low groan of pain. Another hand snaked from under the blanket, twitching before it rubbed the bony-wrist of his. She stiffened—it wasn't her mother.

Evie's eyes shimmered, glancing at the tall man in the tall hat. He smiled, beamed even. His aging face told thousands of stories, and all hers told was that she was hurting and just as stupid and careless like every other child on the Isle.

Her olive skin had faded to a more, Mal-like, pale color. The wound near her temple had scabbed over, and her eyelashes still fluttered like a butterfly. Her eyes, already dark and lustful in nature, easily told him she wanted out—away from her mother, away from him, away from everyone. She pulled her hands back under the covers, giving a regretful whimper before slinking back under herself. Dr. Facilier heard Evil Queen sigh from behind, turning his neck and observing the shape shift and move away from him, edging to the other side of the bed.

"What now?" Evil Queen huffed, "You're supposed to help her."

"No—" he pursed his lips, and let his hands caress the curve of the lump, feeling Evie shift and whimper from underneath once again. "I don't _help_ anyone. But _myself_."

Evil Queen staggered, his darkening glare easily getting to her and reminding her of the woman draped in the same-purple, wearing two-horns and holding a scepter that could drain the life of someone and make an entire kingdom sleeps for one-hundred goddamn years.

"You helped all of us, our children—"

"All owe me their lives," he cut her off, rising from the bed and seemingly towering above her. "I birthed them, they're _each_ of value to me."

"What are you talking about?"

He smirked, before his eyes glanced down at his bare wrist, "Sorry, EQ, but I must be getting back to school. _I have students to attend to_." Dr. Facilier pressed his lips into a fine line, giving one-final stare at the mountain of blankets. "Feel better, my darling. Dragon Hall's waiting..."

* * *

Mal rolled her shoulders, huffing in annoyance for arriving early and having to wait _for him_. She lulled her head back, feeling the hard face of the broken-up brick wall itch and sooth her lavender-scalp. Her fingers gripped the bottom of her leather jacket, breathing heavily. The alleyway was dark and grungy, like everywhere else on the Isle.

A head of dark hair slipped into view, tall, elegant, and looking almost-noble. Anthony Tremaine, wearing a haughty grin that made his dimples show, walked up and stopped close. "You're late," she growled.

He snickered.

"You're just early."

She rolled her eyes, eyeing his dark leather vest and the prince-like face that constantly reminded her of that dream—

"Whatever. Let's just get this fucking over with."

He knit his eyebrows together, chuckling, "Come on now, there's no need to rush... How about a little dance—to set the mood."

"We're not at Carlos' howler. There's no party, no Jay, no screaming step-granddaughters." She gripped her hips, "This isn't some Auradon shit. You know what I want. Now, just fucking give it to me."

He sighed, letting his Adam's Apple bob, "Fine."

His hands dug into his jacket pocket, and after a second, he pulled out a talisman, dark and lined in a blood-red coloring. She grabbed it—cramming it into her jacket pocket with in a simple move. "Remember, this _never_ happened."

Anthony remained stoic, eyeing her passionately.

"Got it?" She added.

He smiled, giving a small nod. "Never happened, got it."

* * *

Jay stirred—curling into a ball before stretching out in a breathy-yawn. His eyelids pushed themselves open, blurred-vision and dry-drool were a problem he dealt with often. He pushed himself up, let his feet dangle from the conveyer belt and used his hands to push back the waves of hair that washed over his face.

His body ached and tightened, a roll of the shoulders followed by the crack of his neck made a small smile grace his tanned-face. Jay hauled himself off, landing in a loud thud before he kicked up the hay.

"Car-ar-los...? Mal...?" He staggered forward, "Yo', you guys—"

A cold hand gripped his bare arm, and he whirled around to spot a familiar and unwanted-face, the daughter of The Shadow Man: Freddie Facilier. Her skin was darker than his, her cheeks dotted with white specs, and her smirk matched her father's to a deadly tee.

"Well, well, if it isn't Jay—"

"What do you want, Freddie? Why are you here?" He stepped back, his shoulder broad and his eyes narrowed on her.

She flicked the black hair with gray streaks from her shoulder, and stepped closer. "I couldn't help but notice you and your little partners in crime weren't in school today. My father wasn't particularly happy about that."

"So? Why do you care? How'd you even know—"

Freddie rolled her eyes at the incessant questioning and plainly curled her arm around his, and pulled herself close. "It doesn't matter _how_ I know, or _why_ I care. All that matters is that my father's upset. He already went to Evil Queen's castle due to an issue."

"—Issue?"

She nodded, her eyes sparkling. "You didn't know...? Huh, some partner in crime you are."

"What happened? Is Evie alright?"

Freddie shrugged and pulled away from him, "Don't know. Don't care, really."

"Then why bother going through the trouble to even tell me?" Jay crossed his arms, his eyes still lingering around in search for Carlos. "You're missing class, too."

She followed his gaze, "Missing something?"

"Carlos—I don't know where he is."

"For his sake, I hope my father doesn't run into him. Or Mal. I happened to notice her sneaking off somewhere. Looks like you're all alone—with me." Her hand curled around his wrist, she smirked, "It's probably better this way."

Jay snickered, "Better?"

"'Cause this way, no one will hear us."

"Freddie, I'm not gonna have sex with you. If that's what you're thinking."

She even cackles like her father.

"Please. I'm not _that_ desperate, you're probably riddled with diseases. I doubt you and all those girls ever wore protection." She smirked, "I mean, how do you think _we_ got here."

"I'd rather not think about our parents having sex, thank you very much."

She rolled her eyes, "Enough chit-chat. I'm here for Ursula's necklace, I know you have it."

"Why do you want it...?" He knit his eyebrows together, effortlessly studying her movement. He'd noticed she was acting a bit off, and not in the usual way. Her yellow eyes stared into his obsidian ones, looking lost in comparison. It felt like she was staring into a black hole, never escaping and never seeing another glimpse of light.

Not that she cared. She loved the dark. They all did.

That's what a lot of girls liked about Jay, and why they'd be more than happy to hitch up their ratted leather skirts and wait for his body to mesh with theirs...

She resisted the urge not to lean closer.

"I have plans for it," was all she could muster out. He grinned, making her roll her eyes all-the-while allowing her to forget what the hell she might've seen in him.

"It'll cost ya', Freddie. Let's start off with— _that necklace_." She smiled as he pointed at the dark and cloudy gem hanging from her neck, laced in a rotting-silver lanyard. The Shadow Man's daughter, with a devilish grin, pulled the object from her neck, and placed it in his hands while he gave her Ursula's necklace.

"Pleasure doin' business with ya'."

She nodded, and cradled the necklace in her hands, while he stuffed hers in his pocket.

"It _has_ been a pleasure. Bye, Jay... and, uh, bad luck trying to find Carlos."

"Bad luck trying to sell that thing, too." He pointed at the necklace, "It doesn't do anything, except collect dust inside of it. Trust me, I checked."

She left without another word, knowing she'd done the deed perfectly. Her father would be so proud.

* * *

Carlos was never one to miss school. And thanks to Mal, he was beyond late. Dragon Hall was a mere couple blocks away by now—he could see the crumbling spires and ivy-covered gargoyles jut out from above the roofs of the slums he ran past. Backpack or not, he _wouldn't_ miss Mad Science class. Today was toad-dissection day.

"Almost there," he reassured himself, the stomping of his feet quickening and the villains he passed getting more and more blurred. Why couldn't he run like this around the tombstones in P.E.?

He turned a corner, seeing the mold growing off the ancient tomb—with second and third basements, for good measure. The grass around, like everywhere else on the Isle, was dead. It crunched under his feet, reminding him of the crunch of gravel under his foot the night before— _and Evie_.

Screeching to a halt, Carlos eyed the front doors, now mere feet away.

The "princess" was probably inside—learning and scheming—like every other day. She'd be listening to the groveling sound of Mother Gothel lusting over her own portraits in Selfishness 101, or "Selfies," as some called it.

And once the thought of Mother Gothel entered his mind, Ginny Gothel showed up soon after.

In all honesty, he was a great lier. Not as great as Mal or Jay, but still decent enough for them to bug off during their game of "Truth or Dare." His first kiss? Hadn't had it yet. Ginny was his lab partner in Mad Science, and he knew she would jump on any guy who came her way—except Carlos.

And he didn't like being the _only boy_ she hadn't spread her legs for or gotten down on all fours for. He shuddered, that last thought reminding him of a dog—and then, his mother.

Women had never showed him compassion.

His cheek burned—Evie's handprint faded and vanished, evidence of the event gone.

His older scars and welts reddened—Cruella's nails still breaking his fragile skin.

The goddamn _G_ on his "Selfies" portrait (hand painted, mind you), symbolized for "Good." And on the Isle, that was the _worst_ grade you could get. And not in the evil kind of way.

Mother Gothel made sure to give him harder assignments—his mother _was_ Cruella de Vil, after all. He's a direct descendant, a rotten apple from the dying tree. A bloodline laced in black and white and red. Their natural enemy: dogs. Their natural ally: fur.

Ginny Gothel—wretched in her own ways. He laughed—remembering spotting the small bump of her belly just a few weeks prior.

 _Grandmother Gothel...?_

"Well, well, what do we have here?" The familiar (spine-chilling) sound of his headmaster made his dying giggle croak like the toads he was supposed to be carving open by this point. Dr. Facilier ran a cold hand down his blood-red jacket sleeve—hearing the man snicker and move closer. "Mr. de Vil, why aren't you in class?"

Carlos turned, peering directly into the amethyst-eyes, his nose scrunched when Dr. Facilier grazed his jaw with his long, boney-finger.

"J-just, uh, getting in-inside, sir." Carlos frowned, "M-Mother kept me working on the house until early this morning. I, uh, w-woke up late."

"Of course... Your mother, I definitely _remember_ her."

Carlos shuddered—Dr. Facilier had been a 'Business Partner' for his mother on numerous occasions. He'd often pretend to be asleep on the luscious-red couch, until he heard his headmaster from outside the door. _"Want me to carry Carlos down to his room...? I'll make sure to tuck him in, nice and tight."_

His mother, surprisingly, declined the offer.

"Come by my office during your free period, Mr. de Vil. I've got a surprise I'd like to show you. Especially, if you know what's good for you." Carlos gulped, but his stomach dropped when Dr. Facilier continued, " _And Evie_."

"Is that a threat...?" Carlos knitted his eyebrows together, and eyed the skull and crossbones on the taller man's hat.

Dr. Facilier grinned, and pressed past his student and into the school. " _We'll see_."

* * *

Mal focused on the talisman, rich in color—the dark wood laced in red carvings, it's weight magnifying every time her eyes glowed green and it's designs glowed crimson. She swallowed, and nursed the cracked-mug of bitter-black coffee in her opposing hand.

School didn't even cross her mind; her lips buzzed at the fresh chill of the seemingly-iced beverage, and she choked it down with a harsh swallow.

Her stomach churned and her throat burned. Fuck, she loved the horrible taste of the coffee. Made her hard, tough. Unlike those fucking Auradon kids—swallowing the warm nectar of goodness out of bottles like a bunch of pampered babies, soft and warm on the inside. Weak, pathetic.

If she got her hands on them... they'd shit their silk pants and pink dresses—scared senseless just by the mere sight of her ghastly eyes.

Anthony plopped down in the chair next to her, biting into a rotten apple and shivering at the chunky and brittle-skin, now brown in comparison to the Auradonian-red. His dark eyes brightened as he caught a glance at the colorful talisman. A smirk graced his swollen-cheeks, filled with aged-apple bits and remnants of the brick-like bread he ate happily the night before with one of the Gaston's.

"I knew you could get it working—"

He quieted after drool laced his lips, he'd forgotten his manners. _Never eat with your mouth full._ Oh, how his mother, Anastasia; his aunt, Drizzela; and his grandmother, Lady Tremaine; would be so disappointed.

"There's no magic in this shit-hole. I didn't _do anything_." She spat the crust of the coffee from her tongue—growing tired of the awful, lingering taste. "It's just... a coincidence."

Anthony rolled his eyes before leaning back, the apple swallowed. "Your eyes are glowing, and so is it," he pointed at the talisman, "it may not be strong magic. But it's definitely magic." She rolled her still-illuminated eyes, scoffing.

"You're wrong. The only time there was magic on the Isle—"

She silenced herself. Anthony didn't need to know. She didn't even want him to follow her to the Slop Shop—he followed like a lost puppy. A nice Carlos "replacement," if there even was one.

"What...? When was there magic here?" Anthony leaned forward, his eyes amused and lit up with want for an answer. His shoulders sagged, he didn't want to fall for one of her tricks. "Mal—answer me."

She buried the talisman in her pocket, "Never mind. It was supposed to be a joke."

"And you didn't commit to it?" He asked, almost in disbelief. Mal never passed up an opportunity to be cruel.

"Well, you're not the one I wanted to perform it on. You wouldn't have the desirable reaction." She brought the mug to her lips, draining the last of the gunk she knew wasn't _purely_ coffee, and stood up, tall and towering to the rest of the shop's visitors. (Which, wasn't many after they caught sight of the daughter of Maleficent, leisurely enjoying her drink inside.)

Anthony rose, too. "Who're you looking for? I want to see their reaction."

She smirked, "Not a fucking chance."

"Mal, you know I'm gonna follow you anyway. Might as well just let me tag along." He smirked, a little more cocky than usual. She sighed, and lulled her head back and forth.

What the fuck was she supposed to do, now?

"If you follow me, then I'll have to fucking kill you." It was her turn to smirk, "So, don't follow me. And don't forget who you're talking to. Learn your place."

He stepped back, a little hurt. "I thought you liked me...?"

She laughed, cackled even. Mal shook her head and rolled her eyes, " _Nobody_ likes you, Anthony."

With a quick turn of her heels, she ascended up the stairs and exited the sunken Slop Shop, entering the messy streets of the Isle, and vanishing from the boy's sights. He hid his face in his leather jacket as he left, so the other villains didn't see the tears well up in his eyes.

His mother, aunt, and grandmother _would be sooo disappointed in him._

 _Again._

* * *

Jay trudged up the crumbling stairs of the Castle-Across-the-Way, letting his brutal knocks on the door rattle through the halls and surely get Evil Queen's attention. Around his neck, Freddie's necklace. No longer dark and cloudy in coloring—but a shiny, almost glowing, gold and purple gem. He didn't notice, too busy preparing himself to the screams and growls of Evie's mother, warning him to "Get off her property!" and "Go fuck himself and not her daughter!"

He had to admit, he liked her screaming. A nice refreshment compared to his father's scratchy throat and old-man-breath, mixed with constant badgering and belittlement.

The inviting sound of Evil Queen's howls of exhaustion as she traveled to the front door made his stomach flutter. But seeing her grueling face—although, terrifying—really made his heart swell against his chest and ribs. Her eyes burned-red, and her cheeks were puffy and wet—"tears of the ugly," she called it.

She pulled away, ready to slam the door in the thief's face. But a glimpse of color, a glimpse of gold, caught her eyes. Dangling from his neck, bouncing off his leather-bound chest and winking at her with his movements, catching rays of sunlight.

"W-what do you want?" Her voice was gruff, almost masculine in comparison to her usual, more elegant, way of speech.

He smiled, crossing his arms and thumbing his bicep, "Is Evie home?"

"She is. Would you like to see her?"

Jay didn't expect her to give in that easily. It usually took a few minutes of sweet-talking before his combat boots even made it an inch inside the daunting fortress.

"Y-yeah."

"Your other _friend_ already stopped by. The one with the white hair." She pursed her lips together, "He wouldn't do anything to my daughter, he's obviously lusting over some _boy_. And you, you wouldn't do anything with him in the room."

She swung open the door, while Jay's eyes and mouth remained wide and agape.

"After you," she added, motioning him inside.

His hands fell to his side, and he nodded to the older woman, before stepping inside. The castle's chilly-temperature was something he'd never get used to. His biceps shivered, layered in goosebumps by the time he made it to the corridor that descended towards Evie's room.

Her mother—trailing behind—paused at every cracked mirror and reflective surface she spotted. Jay trekked on, before stopping at Evie's door. Etched in crown-carvings, and rotting so much it looked older than the castle itself—he pushed on the heavy oak, and slid into the darkness.

* * *

Mal dragged her feet up the sagging-stairs and moseyed into her plentifully-purple room. She loved being in her room—she could blend in. Disappear from the naked eye and walk freely—walk without caution. Her fingers traced the mantel of the brown and rotting fireplace that ruined the purple and green design she tried so desperately to complete.

Trinkets littered the top, huddled into patterns from interest. Shattered-snow globes and tarnished-candlesticks were propped in the back; empty perfume bottles and aging-accessories built up the middle; and old-but-still-useful spray cans remained in front, ready for her to grab in a moment's notice.

Her lavender-locks swayed off her shoulders, patting down the leather collar of her jacket and nestling it under her chin—bent and stiff in the nape of her neck.

The dragon tattoo burned underneath her jacket, and she groaned in annoyance.

It'd been doing that more often lately—thanks to that fucking "adventure" into her mother's Forbidden Fortress. The sizzle, it hurts; but at the same time it's bringing pleasure and the feeling as if she's lighter than air. Her skin scratches, and it feels like her blood is boiling, bubbling underneath her skin and there's nothing she could do about it.

The days where it didn't stop after a few seconds were the worst. The longest, that she remembered, lasted more than a few hours.

That was the first time she dragged a knife across the mark, letting the blood spill and warm her skin and drip from her fingers after the rivers of crimson made it that far. Carlos had found her, and proceeded to nurse her wound while she passed out from the pain.

He bandaged her—helped her.

She and he knew she'd be dead if it weren't for him. Carlos never brought it up after that day, which ultimately followed into the blackness of the night before he finally let her be and left. But that didn't mean he didn't try to bring it up.

Mal avoided him for a solid few hours the next day—but he threatened to tell, spill the rather-bloody secret in front of Evie and Jay, and she wouldn't allow that.

They'd talked, for hours it seemed like, and she explained everything. Let all her secrets out. Poured her very being into everything she said and let him take it. There were tears, wretched sobs, and a painful hug she'd rather forget about.

The scar was gone, as if by magic.

And the dragon tattoo remained unharmed.

She let out a breath of relief as the burning ceased.

* * *

Evie took in the sight of white curls that lingered over her face, her mess of blue hair strewn across her drool-slicked cheeks. She coughed—her shoulders shifting and alerting the boy above her. His hands fiddled with the side of her head, feeling the warm, calloused fingers graze her skin, tapping at the rusty-blood-looking wound and tracing her ear with his thumb to pull out her crimson-colored earring.

"I'm sorry," were the first words to grace her throbbing eardrums. Evie glared—his lips were so close... his warm breath... it brought the pink back to her pasty-lips.

Her stomach flipped, and she groaned. Her throat swallowed, dry and raspy. "Carlos—"

He smiled, and her eyes melted into the cocoa-brown ones above hers. She moaned, rolling her shoulders in discomfort when he pulled her weight upwards and into a warm, and much-needed hug.

A taller shape lingered in the blackness, near her door. His silvery eyes flashed a dark gleam, before stepping closer with a snap of his heel and groan of the century-old wood under his feet, sagging under his weight. "Jay..." She huffed, hiding a smile as Carlos shifted in their hug, craning his neck and giving a small-hint of an even-wider smile.

"You look horrible."

Jay swallowed, hoping his sarcasm was appreciated.

She rolled her half-lidded eyes, releasing another groan of pain when Carlos pulled from her, leaving her cold and wanting. His hands moved down her arms, gripping her wrists.

"I'm sorry," Carlos braced himself, squishing his shoulders close and letting his socked-feet curl their toes, tugging at her soft and warm blankets. He could see the missing spot on her mountain of pillows, the one she'd gifted him sometime ago... Fuck, it's felt like years since then. "I'm sorry... for _everything_ , E. I'm sorry, for being the Isle's biggest jerk. I can't tell you why I said those things... But I did. And, fuck, Evie, I'm s-s-sooo sorry!" His lips quivered as his voice cracked.

She could see the shine of his eyes as they bled the tears he could never conceal from her.

Jay had slumped into the warmth of her bed, his hands grazing her arms like Carlos had done. Evie, now numbed from pain, excepted the warmth of her _friends_.

They were more than "Partner's in Crime."

Hell, they were more than "Friends."

They; her, Carlos, Jay, and Mal, were _family_.

Brothers and sisters. Siblings. They each were one-fourth of their family. They each, were the kings and queens of utter evil. They were more than their parents. More than the average villain. They, were _worse_ than those prissy-pink princesses and stuck-up princes... _They were misfits. They were sinners. They were rotten..._

 _Rotten to the core._

(Though, Carlos and Jay could easily be more than just _family_ to each other. But, that was for another day.)

"Don't worry, C. You know I forgive you." She sunk her head into his shoulder, warmth being the one thing she lusted for. "I'll always forgive her," she muttered into his jacket.

His hands draped around her body, and Jay simply stroked her waves of blue hair, still-sloppy and bed-head-stricken, but still _beautiful_. Carlos let his fingers ghost over the smooth small of his sister's back, hearing her moan and slide more comfortably into his heated embrace.

Jay gave a sly smirk, "Dr. Facilier's gotta be pissed we're missing class."

Carlos let his eyelids seal shut, burying his chin into the nape of Evie's neck, he nodded in agreement, knowing _his own punishment_ would certainly be worse than theirs.

But Evie was better now.

And he'd do anything for her. Or Jay. Or Mal.

He'd always miss toad-dissection day for them.

They were his brother and sisters, after all. And what a protective brother he turned out to be...

* * *

 _Mal gushed over the gooey sensation of the strawberry that graced her pallet. Her dress splayed across the stone platform beneath her—rising out of the water that surrounded one side of her, while the other side lost in a forest of shimmering and whistling trees._

 _Her emerald-orbs glazed over the water, fear sinking into her heart when she realized how close she truly was. The skirt of her dress, colored a dark and paisley-pattered purple, hung over the edge and threatened to get splashed by the current._

 _The columns that towered above her, some missing and some crumbling, were etched in carvings that reminded her of the great columns of her mother's Forbidden Fortress._

 _She checked—her dragon tattoo was gone, replaced by the pale of her skin and the warmth of a sudden hand. She turned—green eyes almost as bright and evil as her own. His golden-brown hair contrasted to her lavender-like-locks, his was messy and disheveled, shining in droplets of enchanted water._

 _Rivulets outlined his skin, tracing his muscles and pouring down his abs—her mouth dried._

 _His shorts, royal-blue with golden crowns, seemed too tight for her liking. His hands roamed up and down her arm, like they'd known each other for their entire lives._

 _She didn't know where she was, where_ they _were. He stood, broad shoulders and a beastly-growl escaping his throat, with a gentle bob of his Adam's Apple._

 _Her upper lip trembled when his hand outstretched above her, letting drips fall to her bone-dry body. The boy smirked, and licked his pinkish lips. She groaned a little too loudly, and followed his gaze. She ducked her head, letting her eyes fall to the ground below her. Strawberries littered across the stonework_ _—her leg accidentally knocked over the bowl without her notice._

 _"You're a bad girl, Mal..." His voice drew out a gasp from Maleficent's daughter. It warmed her stomach, let her chest bubble in heat and her fingers dip under her dress._

 _She didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say... This seemed all too real, all too familiar._

 _"What're you gonna do about it?" She cooed, looking back up and meeting his gaze once again. No doubt about it, his eyes revealed his dark and twisted intentions, lustful and intelligent, mysterious and cunning, beautiful and bad, gorgeous and green._

 _He growled again. His hands now propped on his waist, he lulled his head back and forth, grinning like a prince about to win his princess._

 _But she was no princess._

 _And he was not the prince everything thought he was..._

 _"Let me take you to my side of the spectrum, Mal. Let me take you to the good side, just so you can see how evil you truly are. How_ rotten _you truly are. Let me take you... Mal."_

She screamed into the pillow as her legs and body reeled with pleasure. Mal groaned in fucking ecstasy as her juices dripped from her—sprayed from her, she sprawled out across her bed wearing absolutely nothing. Her chest heaved, layered in sweat and glowing a passionate-gold.

Her fists unclenched the balled-up covers, pressed against her bare chest while her lower body, sticky and hot, spread wide. Her heels rubbed furiously at the bottom of the mattress, lulling the last few drips out of her.

Another moan... she curled close, letting herself fall from the orgasmic high.

Pants and grunts, curses rolled off her lips in heavy and desperate huffs for air.

Her body burned inside but her skin felt cold, layered in goosebumps as she longed for the warmth she wanted. The warmth she _needed._

The evil prince...

His dark emerald-eyes... His beastly-growl... His bodily-heat...

She swiped the sweat from her forehead, rubbing her fingers through the matted-hair and scratching her scalp. His name—meant for the good... she couldn't recall... too tired...

 _Too exhausted..._

But she knew who his father was, the name she painted over hundreds of time to deface the posters intended to bring goodness. King Beast, and his Stockholm Syndrome-excuse for a queen, Belle. Their kingdom... which Mal so-utterly wanted to burn to the ground... was their home.

And the home to their son. A prince.

 _It's always the prince._

* * *

Nighttime was a lifelong-friend to the villains of the Isle. Covered by the sheer black that befell them, so no wondering eyes could see their awful intentions. Rape, rather common on the Isle, was a sight that everyone got to see. Day and night.

And it didn't surprise Mal that she'd pass the treacherous act being committed on her way over to the castle she banned Evie to for so many years...

The victim—a small boy in his early, prepubescent years was getting defiled by a man Mal could easily make-out as one of her mother's henchmen. His screams muffled by the hand over his mouth, while his legs kicked and beat against the man's sides before the pain grew too much.

They vanished from her sight as she followed her intended-path, the henchman's grunts grew quieter and quieter as she steadily-paced further.

Her eyes wondered once more, and saw a girl, almost as young as the boy before, trailing behind a man who held a rotten apple just out of her reach. Mal shook her head, they disappeared into an alleyway and she trudged forward.

She didn't have to worry.

No one would dare touch the daughter of Maleficent.

She remembered the man who gripped her arm in the bazaar one night when she was even younger than the boy and girl she ignored. Her screams caught the attention of many, but not their time. They batted an eye, sure. But they didn't move. They didn't want to lose their spot in the ever-growing line to buy junk from Jafar's Junk Shop.

They didn't want to risk getting taken, too.

The man was older, more gray hair than brown, and his eyes were as blue as the ocean, pretty, they reminded her of sapphire.

He looked harmless from a distance.

But from where she stood, up close and trapped in his muscly-arms and wondering hands, he was a fucking monster. He tugged her hair, ran a cold hand up her jacket and caressed her stomach. She wailed—crying for her mother. Wanting her scepter to crack the skull of the monster that threatened to steal the innocence she was never born with.

She wanted to see the life leave his beautiful eyes at her mother's hand.

What saved her was the ear-splitting shriek she emitted when his hand buried down the front of her pants. " _MALEFICENT!"_

He pushed her off of himself, growling and cursing and ripping locks of purple from her skull. Tears ran down her cheeks and a wet-spot bloomed in her sickly-green jeans, running down her leg and trickling onto the uneven pavement.

Eyes shredded into her, wondering what the fuck happened and trying to glance at the man that caused it. But he was already gone.

Mal still remembered those breath-taking and wonderfully-blue eyes. And not once, did she ever see a soul with those eyes again. The helpless, innocent girl she was back then is nothing like the girl she is now.

She killed that girl a long time ago, and washed away the evidence by proving how evil she truly and plainly was.

Jay forgave her for what she did. And agreed to _never_ mention it _ever_ again. The only other ones who knew were the witnesses that godawful day—her mother, Jay's father, Anthony Tremaine, and Dr. Facilier. Carlos and Evie never needed to know.

When asked by either of them, just how she and Jay became partner's in crime, they both used the same lie they told everyone else.

 _They both wanted to steal the same score..._ and the rest was history.

* * *

"I'd like to speak with Evie—"

Evil Queen groaned in annoyance. This was getting too fucking much. She's tired of having to leave her vanity mirror _every goddamn time_ another one of Evie's friend's showed up. Sometime's she really wished Evie stayed castle-schooled.

No friends, then.

"You know the way," she sighed, heaving open the heavy door and allowing Mal to pass.

Mal nodded, and drifted off into the direction she knew by heart by this point. Evie's door was always the twenty-ninth door on the left, etched in crowns fit for princesses.

"Did I just walk in on the aftermath of a threesome?" Mal chuckled at the sight.

Jay's upper-body was bare, while a pair of tight-fitting boxers hung loosely at his hips. She caught Carlos catching a glimpse while she looked him up and down, he was still clad in his shirt and shorts, but his jacket was hanging off the cracked-headboard of Evie's bed, his shoes shucked off and almost-hidden underneath said-bed. Evie sprawled from the covers, bathed in a sweaty-glow that reminded Mal of the time Evie fell in the murky-waters by Captain Hook's cove. The only fabric of clothing covering her was an aging robe a few sizes too small for her.

The chuckle from all three of them satisfied her ears. She didn't expect to see the de Vil, who she was still-kind of upset with, here; and she certainly didn't expect Jay to be flaunting around barely-clothed.

Heat rushed into her seconds later, and she understood why Jay had stripped, _again_.

"Why is it so fucking hot in here? I'm serious guys, did you three fuck, or something?" Mal turned back into the hallway, Evil Queen would drop dead at the sight. Just imagine if the woman walked in on one of Evie's fuck-sessions with some of the villains around these parts. Mal made that mistake far too often.

"Carlos invented a new toy," smirked Jay.

Evie nodded graciously, "It's a steam machine. It works wonders for your skin. _You_ should definitely try it."

The de Vil grinned—his gadget, whipped up on the fly, was an amazing success. Evie seemed to be feeling better already, judging by the smile and smirk she gave Mal, who took a cautious step-forward in the room before shutting the creaking door. And it had an added affect...

Jay stalked towards Carlos, only underwear-clad, his brow knitted together while he lowered himself down and inspected the gizmo-concoction only Carlos knew how to control. His beanie was still as red and dirty as ever, from where Carlos could see, towering over the crouched thief, being tall was something he never got to feel often.

"What happened to you?" Mal ignored the boys and stripped herself of her jacket, before taking a seat next to the evil princess. "Your mirror would be appalled."

Evie shook her head, "Not important. What about you? You look a little... _exhausted_."

"Just tired. You don't mind if I sleep over, do you?"

Another head shake, "Carlos is spending the night, too, he's still afraid his mother will be mad at him for sneaking out last night." Evie threw a pillow at Jay to get his attention, "Are you staying, as well?"

He shook his head, "Nah, Dad's got me scouting for scores tonight. I've _gotta get better stuff or,_ uh _, else_. His words, not mine."

"Bummer," Evie slumped back into her mountain of pillows, the one she threw at Jay was barely missed. "We could've had a foursome." Mal smacked her arm.

"Not funny." She hissed, glaring playfully.

It was a nice change of pace for the four of them, the night before seemingly-forgot about. Sure, Evie's body was still littered with marks that she doubted would heal quickly; Carlos was still feeling outcasted—thrown to the side like a lost puppy, and the only one wanting to lick his wounds being the boy he'd come to know as his best partner in crime; Jay's body was still living the thrill and high of the ultimate parkour challenge: Hell Hall's roof; and Mal, oh Mal... she'd never forget the acidic words her and Carlos had shared, their winner-less battle.

But she'd let that go. The smile on his face granted her enough strength to do that.

"Oh, Evie—I got my hands on this, and I think you'll like it." Jay dropped to his knees, clenching his jaw as he sifted through his clothes in the pile by the archaic-nightstand, rotten with it's century-plus-a-few-decades-old wood.

"A gift...?" She perked her lips, outstretching her arm and twitching her fingers as the suddenly-cold object plopped into her palm.

 _A necklace..._ golden and purple and shiny. Fit for a princess-turned-queen of darkness.

Jay snorted, "Figured a beautiful necklace deserved to be around the neck of a beautiful girl. And when she declined, I decided to just give it to you." Evie rolled her eyes, still hiding a smile she got all-too regularly when it came to Jay and his mischievous ways.

She clasped the flashing-jewelry around her neck, feeling the lip-biting chill of the gold, flashing and sparkly to the three misfits circling her.

Mal gripped at the covers she'd pulled over herself, despite the heat barely lowering after Carlos switched off his machine-thing. The necklace was beautiful—and _purple_. And she couldn't help but feel a tad jealous that it belonged to Evie now, instead of her. She singled out the thief with her glare, balling the sheets in her clenched-fists while he tugged his pants back on.

She sighed—her green eyes could barely glow out of pure exhaustion. The evil prince really had _worn her out_ , and by now that seemed like eons ago.

"Thanks," Evie whispered. It felt almost foreign to her tongue.

He winked, and she felt her cheeks glow a little red. Why did that always happen? His smirk always made her melt inside, and his eyes stared into her more-than-black soul, unraveling her from the inside out, unleashing her secrets to the sleek obsidian eyes that always penetrated her, pierced her solid-foundation and looked past the ugliness she knew she was born with, he easily peeled the _real_ her out of the _fake_ her.

Exposing her.

Letting her glow with confidence and actually feel—actually smile back at him, without the constant worry of wrinkles or crows-feet.

He made her feel... beautiful.

Made her feel like she was the fairest in all the land. Showing her that she was prettier than a princess, and deserved _more than a pathetic prince_. She was the Queen, and she could have all those powerless princesses and princes bow before her and praise her, tell her how beautiful she truly was and always would be.

Carlos shifted against her, and she stirred from her inner monologue. Jay had vanished—and the purple-headed girl had already buried herself under the sheets.

"Are you okay?" The younger villain asked, his hand and wrist propped on her shoulder.

Evie nodded without a second-thought. "I'm fine, C."

He gave a similar nod, before crawling under the murky-depths of her covers, only his tufts-of-white hair poking out and giving away the spot he curled up into, a pillow clutched close to his chest while three others propped up behind him, with a final one, cool and inviting, buried under his head.

With a stoic face, she gingerly joined her partner's in crime under the covers, layering themselves in the vast-sea of dark blues and blacks, _draped in darkness..._

* * *

 **Well, that's all for now! I'M SORRY ABOUT THE LENGTH! My fingers kept tapping away, but I think I'm proud of this chapter—more story-set-up than anything.**

 **If you're not familiar with Melissa de la Cruz's _Isle of the Lost_ novel, a prequel to _Descendants_ , then you've probably got no idea who some of these characters are. (Mainly, Anthony Tremaine.) **

**Freddie was introduced not long ago in the animated-series: _Descendants, Wicked World_. So, if you're up to date, then you should know who she is. **

**Thank you all for the amazing response this story has gotten, and thank you all for the sheer joy you bring to my life. Hopefully, this chapter lived up to the expectations the previous two chapters have set, and hopefully you made it to the end in one piece—again, sorry about the word-count.**

 **But, in the meantime, please continue to be the amazing and awesome readers I love and cherish in my heart, because, like, I've got nothing else going for me. Ha-ha. Thanks for reading! Thanks for the amazingtacular support!**

 **THANK YOU! Can't wait to see you again. :)**

 **Stay safe. ~ kjay15**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey! Sorry for taking _forever_ to update. There was technical difficulties, plus my writer's block and creative procrastination attempts—I eventually gave up and just decided to rewrite the chapter because it wasn't leading in the way I wanted it to. This is the fourth chapter, which, according to a _certain someone_ , is the chapter where sh!t gets done, in a matter of speaking, haha. That's not really happening in this chapter, because this chapter is mainly filler to introduce a few characters. But, yeah, hopefully you like either way. **

**The amount of support I've gotten for this story is overwhelmingly amazing! _You all are, seriously, the best. _**

**Now, there's _a lot_ going on this chapter. HEED THIS WARNING: This chapter contains physical abuse, psychological abuse, mentions of recent and not-so-recent past-rape, Barge Day, Jay and his ladies, OC's, Protective Mal, Goblins, meeting the parents, and probably more that I'm forgetting.**

* * *

Carlos trudged up to the nearly fifteen-foot front doors of his home, tugging his jacket closer to his body—the temperature had dropped lower than normal, and it didn't help the uneasiness he felt. His mother stood just behind those rickety doors, which, if they were to unhinge, would crush him like a bug under Jay's foot. This woman, this dog-expert, was, no doubt, going to be in a rather sour mood; her son hasn't been home two nights in a row, and his chores were never complete.

He swallowed rather audibly—he'd be lucky to get away with _just_ bruises.

The de Vil mansion was a horrific place in his mind; it wasn't his _home_ , it wasn't his _safe place_. His treehouse was too close for comfort, but, then again, anywhere on the Isle was _too close for comfort_. Cruella would always find him—and she'd mark him up just to get a reaction, before she'd force him on his hands and knees to scrub the entire floor of the mansion spotless, just so she could have another "business meeting". He wondered if Beelzebub had survived two nights without him, and with _her_.

The doors to the mansion were pushed open with some effort, and, once inside, he took in the sight of his prison. Other people, other _villains_ called him lucky; his home was a mansion, his family line had, once, been rich and admired... He was, under different circumstances, the heir to a once-almighty fashion corporation.

They told him that he should thank his lucky stars for his heritage.

They told him that he didn't deserve the luxury of living in a mansion; that he was a flaw in the system; that he, of all the people on the planet, should _not_ have been given this amazing life.

(His mother was often the one he calls "They".)

And think of the de Vil and she shall appear. Cruella spotted him quickly—his retched clothes and dirty skin were an eye-sore, compared to the extravagance of her foyer. _Carlos should have known better than to show up looking like some dirty rat from a sewer_. She gave her displeasing look, something he'd grown more than used to, and asked him where the hell he'd been.

She hardly cared, really. But her chores were adding up. He had _some_ use, after all.

"I-I was... I was w-with Mal... a-a-and... and the oth-others." His eyes shot down at the floor, her shadow was tall and menacing, much like the real thing. Her displeased look turned into a glare; her brow scrunched, her lower lip tightened around her cigar, and her high-cheekbones seemed to grip and sculpt the active-anger she was experiencing and about to unleash.

Cruella stepped closer, her finger pointed out at Carlos—who's own eyes watched with dread. His body tensed at her words: "You _do not_ deserve them!" And his body reeled when her hand struck into his chest, sending him backwards and into the giant front door. He released a audible "oof!" in pain, before clutching his pectoral and holding still. She wasn't finished, yet. Cruella gripped his shoulder, yanking him forward, and with a raspy-breath, uttered: "You don't even deserve the life you were given."

She popped the cigar from between her lips, held it tight, and sank it into the palm of Carlos' exposed hand.

He lurched forward, hissing in agony as the searing pain and smoldering ash spread across his skin—raw, red, _exposed_ and bloody. Carlos yanked away after a few seconds, gasping and huffing while his eyes lingered on the sizzling-crimson _dot_ in the center of his hand. The pain was already familiar, so the tears he thought about shedding just... _didn't_.

This was better—he has more marks—he got new _spots_ often, and, soon, maybe his mother would take a look at his skin, and see some value in him. Just like she did with those Dalmatians.

"I know," his lower lip trembled, but not like his mother's. Her lips were taut, tight and red. His were puffy, pink, and pale. He remembered the lip-stick he tried on when he was four. Cruella's lip-stick. He also remembered the day after, when Dr. Facilier was treating him for the bleach he was forced to swallow—his mother hadn't liked her lip-stick on him. "I-I know, Mom. I know."

"Go. Your chores have nearly doubled, you ungrateful brat." His hand had gone limp, the pain essentially gone; his shoulder reeled from the tight grip of his mother's boney-hands, but burned with a passion as the hand-print reddened his skin underneath the fabric of his jacket. His mother's touches were "gifts", not "punishments". His mother's "love" was just a little more challenging to get—and the way she gave it was, simply, by marking her own; bruises don't hurt anymore, a burn's sizzle brings him life, cuts and scratches that draw blood are the most loving, and the weekly starvation tells him his mother cares about his figure.

She loved him, surely. Just... in her own unique way.

Carlos could live with that.

She was his mother...

...and boys are supposed to love their mothers, no matter what. (According to the cigar-smoker.)

* * *

Evie softened as her mother's voice filled her room.

The Evil Queen needed hours of beauty sleep—so she didn't notice Mal or Carlos' overnight stay at the Castle-Across-the-Way. She managed to make the two scatter before the sunrise woke up the plump woman, where she would then wander her chambers, the castle halls, and the former-throne room just to belt out nonsense of her magic mirror.

 _"_ _Magic Mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest one of all? Magic Mirror, in my hand, who is the most beautiful in all the land? Magic Mirror, where'd you go, show me the death of the girl with skin as white as snow..."_

It was soothing to the sixteen-year-old. Her mother's voice was heavy, granted, and belonged to the woman who'd kept her hidden away for a little over a decade—where she got pale, little-to-no social skills, and very good at alluring guys just from a little flaunting in her bedroom window. But Grimhilde wasn't, so to say, a _terrible_ mother.

She wanted Evie to be beautiful, she wanted her to be a princess, to be the little damsel in distress for the prince to come and rescue. Grimhilde wanted her daughter to be what she, herself, couldn't be— _the fairest of them all_.

(But who's to say a girl can't have a little fun...?)

The bed she shared with Mal and Carlos were often littered with boys from night to night. Hell, she remembered some girls joining in on the fun. But Evie never submitted. Her role was on top for those of no-royal status. She rode those boys like a horse, pistoning herself and taking all the necessary precautions to make sure both he and _she_ got the bang for their filthy buck. Evie wasn't worried about _actual_ , physical protection—there were hardly any that would suitably work—she had her concoctions and potions, nothing actually _magical_ , but not far from it.

She was a nerd, after all. (Her special perfume can draw in men for miles, if the overall stench of the Isle wasn't so overwhelming.)

"Evie, darling, I need you to run to the bazaar. Urgent eyeliner shortage." Grimhilde's voice was still heavy, still belonged to the woman who hid her away for more than half-her-life, and still belonged to the woman who loved her reflection more than her own flesh and blood, which can be understandable. Snow White _was_ her step-daughter; Evie's step-sister, and Grimhilde wanted her heart carved out.

Oh, how Evie _loved_ that story. She'd love it even more if that huntsman wasn't such a fucking baby and let the girl go.

But, hey, Snow White's now married to some pompous-prince that wore tights and living in some fancy castle. So, maybe, in the long run, Evie could get that kind of happy ending—she just had to continue to listen to her mother's soothing voice as it ridiculed her looks, called her ugly, blamed her for her mother's plump figure, and shouted at the top of her lungs about how the magic mirror had finally talked back, when it really had been Evie herself, who was asking for a mere apple slice of food.

As Mother always said: _"Starvation gets you skinny. You should definitely try it."_

Oh, how Evie just loved her mother's soothing voice; which quickly snapped her out of her little daydream.

"Completely understand," the sixteen-year-old perked up, she'd finally get to see the sun for the first time that day. Maybe catch Jay scoring some stuff, maybe Mal tagging the place up with her favorite insignia: _the purple dragon_. "I'll leave just as soon as I finish applying my morning blush."

"That's my darling, remember, no smiling. Wrinkles." The Evil Queen disappeared from the room after Evie's affirmative nod.

* * *

Jay shuffled across the living room, careful not to wake his father as he placed last night's scores on the table: a couple worn books; a bent, golden flute; some torn clothes; a few spare coins; he even managed to swipe a pair of worn-shoes from Clay Clayton—who's time was being well spent making out with one of the step-granddaughters, while one of the Gaston's kissed down his neck from behind. Jay wanted that image out of his head immediately. It'd been a long night, and it didn't help knowing his partners in crime were sleeping comfortably in Evie's bed. He imagined Carlos' chest rising and falling in his sleep, he remembered the almost-hypnotic sight of it...

A gruff throat-clearing caught his attention. Jafar was in the doorway across the living room, with Iago perched on his shoulder.

"What'd you find?" Jay let out a breath of relief—his father seemed somewhat satisfied with the pile of junk. The distant thought of Jafar easing up a bit and letting Jay actually take a small nap before sending him for more scores popped into his brain, it didn't last long before Jafar had pulled the books, the flute, clothes, and shoes from the pile; leaving just the coins, for himself. "Go put these in the store. Get ready to head back out, today's Barge Day."

 _How the fuck did I forget that today was Barge Day_ , Jay thought, _every second Tuesday of every month. How could I forget?_

"R-right, right." Jay nodded, his hands kept his biceps warm by rubbing them, he didn't realize how cold it was going to be; Jafar was counting the coins, his face of disappointment had already grown back. "Right, okay. I'll see you later, then."

His father groaned.

Jay shuffled back out of the living room and into the store—another long day with _no_ pay. Perfect.

* * *

Mal saw the kid from the night before. The boy.

The little boy she saw getting _raped_ by that man in the alley. The little boy she _left_ to finish getting defiled by the henchman of her mother.

His shorts were gone—replaced with loose-fitting, ripped, stretched, and stained briefs she'd seen dangling from his ankle the night before. She saw the marks across his thighs; the fingerprints decorating his skin, along his arms and neck, dark bruises on his wrists. She noticed dry bloodstains running down his legs. His hair was knotted, and littered with dirt and gravel.

Her stomach sank. Like a rotten pit in the center of her rotten core.

She found herself standing behind him; and, _actually_ , talking to the kid. He flinched when her voice made contacts with his ears.

"Hi."

The little boy faced her, trembling—he was obviously freezing. He was wearing an unbuttoned-shirt, brown in color, that hung down to his waist. She noticed none of the buttons were even attached. His eyes were green, like hers.

"H-hi."

His voice was hoarse. She could only imagine what that man did to get it that way. "What's... what's your name?" She found herself asking.

The middle of the bazaar wasn't a place for little boys who just got _raped_ —he was, obviously, lost. He was terrified, _traumatized_ , even. _Who wouldn't be_ , she thought, _he's not even crying_. She noticed the sprinkle of freckles across his cheeks. An instant reminder of Carlos. (That didn't help the situation.)

"D-Dillon. Dillon... _D-Dillon de V-Vil_."

(Now _that_ seriously didn't help the situation.)

* * *

Evie noticed the clouds right away. She wanted the sun—she expected the sun, not the freezing temperature she met with once she walked outside. It looked like it might've been raining outside the barrier; she couldn't really tell, the barrier distorted the outside world when up close. From a distance, say, Bargain Castle, you'd be able to see Auradon in all it's glory. While here, next to the barge, it looked like nothing more than a slosh of tall buildings and bright colors.

She thought she'd swing by the barge shipment before heading to the bazaar. Who knows what potential beauty treatments or extra broken mirrors could be hidden underneath all the rotten food, torn clothes, and, mostly, garbage.

A gruff Goblin greeted her with a grunt. "I _hate_ blue." He managed to spit just about a thousand times despite saying a mere three words. Evie grimaced—a few droplets landed on her boots, they were new (by Isle standards), and now she was pissed.

"I hate Goblins. _Ugly beasts_." The Goblin payed no attention to her, his interests now lingering on the rusty-iron poker sticking out of a pile of chunky-coal. Evie avoided a brown banana peel and climbed down to the lower section of the barge; the ship was nearly the size of a few De Vil Mansion attics, if she remembered Carlos' correctly.

 _Carlos_. He'd been reluctant to leave. But she couldn't let him stay, her mother would have been up soon enough, and Maleficent knows what she would have done to the poor boy had she found him. The Evil Queen wasn't fond of boys in her castle. Evie managed a shudder, knowing full-well her mother's vials of poison would have made good use that morning _had_ she woken up earlier than planned. Mal would have been let go—Maleficent's daughter got a free pass. Cruella the Crazy Woman's runt didn't.

She may have let them in the night before. But her mother was a different queen before noon.

(Evie remembered the boy she'd taken to bed for the first time; and what her mother later did to him after she'd walked in that morning to find his head between her thighs, and his hands cupping her breasts. She heard his screams for mercy for _hours_ until nothing but dreaded silence filled the castle halls.)

The Evil Queen knew Evie knew of her actions. That's a reason Jay and Carlos, and, even Mal, were permitted into her chambers. Her mother _wants_ another boy to rape and torture to her plump heart's content.

Evie felt flattered, if anything. It showed her mother cared.

"...Aye!" She jumped; feeling something push at her stomach and send her back into the ladder she'd just climbed down. "Watch it!" The voice was even more gruff than the grumpy Goblin up above.

She sighed, brushed the hair off her shoulders, and pushed the little mongrel of a Goblin back. "Don't. Touch. Me."

Her eyes sunk down to the Goblin a few feet in front of her. Half-her-size, black and beady-eyed, horned and winged, but both sets were broken or torn away, and his skin was crawling with dirt and filth. He was a particularly darker-Goblin. His teeth were also yellower than most she'd seen.

"Yuh' not me type," he spat, "yuh' tuh' pretty."

By the wrath of Maleficent, this Goblin's voice was deep and heart-pounding. Evie was quick to notice an arm was gone. His other, his left one, held an old helmet at his hip. He was struggling to hold the damn thing, rusted and iron and heavy. Little she could do to help him—not that she wanted to. He'd have a hell of a time getting the old thing up the ladder.

"Who are you?" She didn't know why she cared.

"Gogur," he huffed, "Gogur da' Goblin."

She glanced over him, she saw a pile of perfume bottles all cluttered together. Her interested piqued—but not enough. This Goblin amused her, oddly.

"One of Maleficent's?" Evie used to be scared to mention the old dragon's name. Mal taught her not to be.

"No." His answer was quick, "Jus' got grouped tuh-gethah with 'em. By orduh of da' King; all Goblin's mus' beh sent tuh dis' fuckin' place. Da' Isle of da' Lost."

Evie rolled her eyes. It was well-known the King had imprisoned people—non-villains—to the this goblinforsaken place. Most were dead now. Those who didn't belong here, didn't know how to survive amongst other villains. Women were raped and slaughtered, men too, and children who found themselves imprisoned under some misfortune found themselves as slaves, sex or work or both, it didn't matter. The King of Auradon was no good King. The King of Auradon _is_ no good King.

Auradonian's didn't seem to understand that. Except for the dwarves. They at least tried to get their distant cousins, the Goblins, off the island. The King, often called "The Beast", denied all of it.

The villains who did belong here knew how to survive. Some thrived, those everyone knows and fears, and some died. Not physically, for most, but their legends, instead. Everyone knows who Maleficent is. Who the Evil Queen is. Who Jafar is. Who Cruella de Vil is... as many others... but no one knew who Madam Mim was, or Monsieur D'Arque, or Madame Medusa, or Morgana...

"Do you want to be here?" asked Evie—it was a stupid question to her. But some liked it here. Those who got it better than what they had before imprisonment.

Gogur chuckled, "I wanna slash da' King's throat."

"Then we have something in common, Gogur. My name is Evie—the Evil Queen's daughter." She bobbed a curtsy to the Goblin, who bent a knee to bow. He seemed kinder than most of the other Goblins. Particularly the one on the upper section of the barge.

She regretted what she said about Goblins and Ugly Beasts. At least for this one.

* * *

Cruella smirked, "Open the door," she commanded, and Carlos obeyed—the knocking was incessant and he struggled with the heavy doors. Gaston's grin was, seemingly, alluring to her. And himself. Gaston loved his own grins. Almost as much as he loved the hair on his chest, or the muscles on his arms, or the prick between his legs. Maleficent knows Cruella loved all those things just as much as he did, give or take a chest-hair or two.

His booming voice was an added bonus, too. Carlos could hear, then.

"Cruella," Gaston perked up, sliding his thumb down Carlos' jaw to show his gratitude. He always liked Carlos—one of his sons, he often forgot which, talked about the little runt and how they enjoyed toying with him.

"Gaston," she pursed her lips, "you're looking well."

He smirked at her, and trudged forward enough so Carlos could close the door behind him. "As are you, my dear... _Business Partner_." He cupped her breasts beneath her fur, to which she graced his ears with a pant and a purr. The de Vil woman trailed her hands down his solid sides, dripping her fingers beneath the buckle of his belt.

"Carlos," she called, "do keep your ears open tonight. You might learn a thing or two."

"Yes, Mother." Gaston glanced back at the fourteen-year-old; his eyes wandering from Carlos' face down to his feet.

"My son was right. He _does_ look better after Jafar's kid got a hold of him." Gaston sneered, turning back to Cruella, "Do tell me you've kept him innocent." She smiled back at him, nodding, before sharing a look with her son.

Carlos shivered. _He always wondered why his mother didn't let any of her business partners touch him. Despite their efforts_.

* * *

Jay didn't share Carlos' fortune. His father sold him multiple times in his prime—when he was more valuable. They returned the boy the next day, chipper as an Auradonian while Jay cleaned himself with the rags his rapist's provided. He lost his innocence at seven-years-old to Clayton. The man aimed a rifle at the boy's head the entire time his lips were wrapped around him—pressed into his bobbing head as it choked on his manhood.

" _No teeth, girl_." He'd said, pressing the metal into his scalp. His father forced him to grow his hair for a reason; the clients never complained, they paid well, and often came back for seconds, or thirds, or fourths...

Gaston came by every month. His sons got a rest once a day every month; and he'd been looking for a cute boy to fill their shoes. " _Women for the sun_ ," he'd say, " _men for the night. Boys for the moon_." He stopped coming after Jay's fourteenth birthday; when he got hair and more defined. Jay (and Jafar) didn't understand—Gaston was _both_ of those things, as well as his son's...

But Jay didn't complain.

He'd taken his first girl, a woman, on his fifteenth-birthday.

And now he was taking another... he didn't catch her name; started with an _H_ or maybe an _A_ , he didn't know, nor care. The woman was squealing under him, as he pivoted in and out while her hands, her nails, tore into his leather vest. A shuck of his pants and she was his for the fucking. A crowd watched, a couple of boys, itchin' their junk and shrugging each other's shoulders.

A good few had a stray hand or two buried down their shorts. One or two of them whipped their's out and made love with their hands. Jay didn't notice—the woman's tits jiggled under his touch, under his hot breath, and her squeals filled the alleyway.

"Finish her" and "Knock her up" were flown around between the boys, a particular red-head dropped to his knees under the pressure and soiled his drawers. Jay, not so elequently, "finished her" and made his way from the alleyway while pulling up his pants. Another boy with big blue eyes woohoo'd him as he walked off.

His way to the barge may have been sidetracked, but not long. His schedule should still be the same—he should be home by the appropriate hour. Otherwise, Jafar wouldn't hesitate to beat the value of time _into_ him.

He thought he caught a whiff of Evie's perfume while approaching the barge; but the gag-worthy stench of the barge drew his attention a lot more. (Evie had left merely a few minutes before—parting with Gogur as his master awaited him.) Jay was quick, snatched up a couple of worn slippers; a nice robe that'd probably been dawned upon a spoiled Prince who disliked the color and discarded the thing; a role of scrolls, stained and ripped; a few golden teeth (Maleficent knows how those got on the barge); a jade ring, most likely thrown away by accident; and a few pretty laces of colored thongs and lady panties. He managed to steal those last items from some teenager planting his face in a pair and wetting it with his tongue.

Now he was off the barge and heading for the bazaar. The bazaar, for most, was a place of work. They needed to sell—make the most out of the less-than-shitty life they've been reduced to. But to Jay... the bazaar was a playground. A place to frolic and do parkour, a place to swipe and steal and score, a place to flash his junk just to get a few extra coins for his father...

The bazaar was his heaven on this fucking island. The bazaar was _his_ place. And _everyone_ knew that.

When he arrived, carrying the barge-scores, he let his eyes wander—his nose led him to a warm piece of bread, something _beyond_ value and more than rare... Jay'd only seen a warm piece of bread once in his lifetime. His father let him see it when he was ten, almost eleven, right before finishing the damn thing off while his starving son watched.

Jay only survived that year because of some woman who'd, for some twisted reason, given him a few rotten apples every few weeks. The poor kid didn't know why his father didn't feed him, not that there was much food anyway, but still... Jay was his only resource of income—his scores and his body earned Jafar a lot more money than he would have had if Jay hadn't come around.

Or if Jafar hadn't _come_.

(Jay couldn't help but chuckle to himself. His father may be horrible and deplorable and malicious and any other only-Carlos-knows word meaning Jafar was just a dick, _but he was still his father_. Still his flesh and blood. He didn't have the right to complain. He had the right to chuckle, though.)

(As long as his father didn't see him, anyway.)

The bread felt gooey on his tongue, warm on his lips, and heated his throat nicely. The man selling the thing wasn't smart enough to _watch it_ , especially when Jay came by—you're pretty much guaranteed to notice something missing after Jay walks by, be it your damaged-jewels, your rotten-food, your coins... fuck, people wouldn't notice their virginities missing if Jay was involved.

And Jay usually was, _always_ , involved. Contrary to what his father says when some grubby villain argues that Jay stole something of his and his father's trying to sell it back for double.

Jay finished off the bread quickly, erasing the evidence, storing it away in his stomach for save keeping. "Sea-Bitch," he managed to call out while still chewing, eyeing the tentacle-beast of a woman who loved voices and eels and was missing a certain-necklace that Jay sold to Freddie the day before...

"Bastard," she yelled after. Another chuckle escaped his throat, and he sauntered off. She didn't notice he'd stolen a grub of sea-fries from her table; the bread may have been warm, but these goblinforsaken fries were hard as rocks and tasted like shit.

He fed a particularly _greener_ one to some kid who gave him _puppy_ - _dog_ eyes. Carlos would have wet his shorts had the kid done that to him. Jay'd then teach _that kid_ and his _puppy eyes_ a thing or two about respect. Carlos deserved respect. Jay often thought Carlos deserved everything.

 _"Why can't people see that?"_ Jay found himself thinking at night. Carlos managed to worm his way into the teen's dreams far too often. That was something that made his nights in the closet (literally speaking, mind you) liveable.

It wasn't long before he's managed to stuff his pockets, vest, and beanie full of scores. He'd been quite proud of swiping a golden cufflink from one of the merchants when she was restocking the opposite shelf. Jay was just about to head back to his father's Junk Shop when a flash of blue entered his vision. The necklace around her neck drawed him close—remembering it; and easily remembering who he'd given it to.

Evie, letting her ocean-blue hair bounce off her shoulders with each strut, was letting her smirk earn her a nearly-empty vial of _something for beauty_. Jay knew the routine. Always cosmetics.

"Awfully early for Sleeping Beauty to be out of bed." Jay grinned—Mal would have skinned him alive for that comment.

The sixteen-year-old chuckled to herself, gazing towards her partner-in-crime. "Careful, Maleficent's not above removing your tongue just for the mere mention of her name."

"Gee, never mind." He rolled his eyes, "Clearly I got her sister, Sleeping _Bitchy_. My mistake."

"Clever, boy." Evie toyed with a strand of her hair, rolling her eyes like he was, "C'mon, Carlos wanted us to talk before going home. I'm glad I found you."

Jay scoffed, "I found _you_ , first of all."

"Debateable."

* * *

Something about the kid through Mal off. He barely talked, she guessed that was just a de Vil _boy_ thing. Carlos barely talked in times like this—strangers meant silence and awkward staring. She tried remembering a Dillon from the de Vil line... she tried remembering if Carlos had mentioned him. But she couldn't—Carlos never talked about his family.

She never even asked.

Her thinking face must have amused him; his small smile got her attention. "What?" She asked. It was then she noticed the strands of white hair tangled in the sea of raven-black—he was _definitely_ a de Vil—and she just hoped this kid had _somewhere_ to go. Hell Hall would _kill_ this kid. It nearly killed Evie, and her and Carlos, once upon a time.

Mal didn't let herself think about what would happen if this kid accidentally ruined one of Cruella's coats. He'd be crippled and bleeding and Carlos would be tortured for letting it happen.

"Y-your cheeks, t-they're kinda g-gree- _green_." His little finger pointed up at her face.

She drew her own, longer, finger across her cheek, and she gave a matching small smile. "It happens."

He wanted to press further, she could tell, but he didn't. His throat must've hurt. Dillon, by then, had turned away and was ready to aimlessly wander through the alleys—his chances of getting raped, _again_ , would nearly-double if he went the way he initially planned. Mal knew her mother's henchmen patrolled those alleys every Tuesday.

And she knew her mother's henchmen _enjoy_ seconds. (Or thirds, or fourths, or fifths...)

"Wait," her lips barely moved. "No, wait—don't go that way."

Dillon seemed smart enough (he was related to Carlos, mind you) to listen. But Carlos was often prone to asking questions. And Dillon wasn't much different. "W-why not?"

He made an effort to show he wasn't as scared as he really was. He put on a brave face. Like Carlos. (Some of the time.)

Damn, this kid reminded her of her partner-in-crime more than she cared to admit—which resulted in her _caring_ for this kid more than she cared to admit. Why should she care about kids? The adults on the island certainly didn't. _Maybe that's it_ , she thought, _we need to stick together. The kids. All of us._ Then reality struck, _the fuck? This isn't Auradon. Goddammit._

"Look, kid, I know your cousin, Carlos? Yeah, he's my—" Mal didn't want to say friend. "—buddy."

 _That didn't sound any better_ , she cursed to herself mentally, this kid was supposed to fear her, and she was actually thinking about helping him. _It's not about him_ , she thought, _it's about Mother. I'm doing this to spite her. Her henchman raped this kid who-knows-how-many-times, and he's still standing, albeit, awkwardly and looking like he's in pain, but still. Mother deserves my spite_.

Dillon's eyes—unusually green, for a de Vil—flickered up towards her own. Damn, this kid was pulling her in. She didn't like that.

"Y-you know C-Carlos?" He stepped closer, "W-what's your name?" This kid had guts, he even narrowed his eyes up at her. Almost like he wanted to make sure she was _good enough_ for his cousin. That little inkling made her step forward, too. Just to spite him.

"Mal."

He couldn't have scurried back to his original standing place faster even if he tried. His eyes were downcasted, and Mal could tell he was berating himself for actually making himself _known_ to the daughter of Maleficent. He looked like he was readying himself—either to run away, or face the brutal death he would surely recieve for freely talking to Princess of Hell.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Mal added. "Why would I hurt my buddy's little cousin?"

His stiff appearance softened—but nothing close to the way he was just a minute ago, before he knew who she was and who she was related to. The bruises scattered across his skin seemed more noticeable, now that he started to wince in pain at them. She guessed shivering while layered in hand-marks wasn't a good combination. He gazed back up to her after spending so many seconds staring at the crumbling pavement beneath their feet. Mal could see the fear in his emerald-green eyes, which, as seeing only hate and _pure evil_ come out of green eyes for so many years, was an odd change.

They also reminded her of the prince who inhabits her dreams every night; the one that gets her dragon tattoo to itch every time she thinks of him.

"W-where is-s-s Car-los...?" He flinched, like he was ready for her to smack him, punch him, _or worse_ , just for asking the question.

"Hell Hall. You know the place, right?" Dillon nodded, absentmindedly tugging at his torn, button-down shirt, he even let his fingers pick at the spots where the buttons should be. Mal stuck out a hand, "Want me to take you there?"

He shook his head, "I-I'm fine. I'm f-f-fine. I d-don't need any help-p."

Her hand lingered, though. She didn't expect him to take hold of it, so she didn't know why she let it hang there. Mal had a twinge of hurt over it, _this must be what it feels like for Jay when Carlos ignores his "up-high's"_ , she thought. Dillon's eyes locked onto the hand—and she was genuinely surprised he decided to take it.

"B-but it w-would b-be-be-e nice." He added, with a small smile. (Which did _absolutely nothing_ to thaw out Mal's frozen heart of pure evil, mind you.)

With that, Mal chose the safest route to Hell Hall, not that she'd need it, she _was_ Maleficent's daughter, and _everyone_ knew that, or they would know that when she was done with them. Dillon didn't know that she would stop all brutal things that'd happen to him—all the unspeakable acts that _no one_ should ever have to deal with. Mal was kind of shocked. This kid, Carlos' cousin, was making her _protective_ , and there were only four people that ever got that feeling out of her.

She guessed Dillon was just lucky number five.

* * *

 **Now, I know what you're all thinking. WHERE THE HECK HAVE I BEEN?! The answer is: _busy, writer's block for every single story, and very creative procrastination_. (I'M SO, so, sO, SOOOO SORRY!) Oh, and there were technical difficulties and I had to start this chapter (along with two other story chapters) over. **

**Hopefully my funk is gone, and I can get back to my regular scheduled updating schedule—which is literally anytime.**

 **So we'll see. But I'm working on it! :)**

 **So, hopefully you didn't hate this chapter _too_ much. I'm SO grateful for the fantastic feedback this story has gotten, and I can't wait to see what you guys think of it. Alright, be safe, kjay15 out! Peace! **

**(Oh, and I'm working on my other stories, if you're wondering. So watch out for them. Hopefully.)**

 **Okay, bye!**


	5. Chapter 5

**I feel like I'm saying this every chapter now, which seriously sucks. I'M SO SORRY FOR TAKING _FOREVER_. You have no idea how much I missed writing for this story! Writer's block is a _b!tch_. Which I'm sure some of you already know.**

 **Anyways, I'm here now and I'm ready for you all to (hopefully) enjoy this latest chapter. Now, let's rock-n'-roll!**

 **But before you start reading, HEED THIS WARNING: This chapter contains Maleficent. You should all be terrified.**

* * *

Thinking back, Jay remembered seeing marks scattered across Carlos' skin. Back before he and Carlos were partners-in-crime, when the little de Vil runt was nothing more than a play-thing he could score off of. He wanted to snatch the white-haired kid's gloves one winter morning, back when Jay was twelve and Carlos was ten—he was a scrawny kid, short, too; still is—but he had more muscle now. (Not that Jay was looking long enough to take note, mind you.) But now he couldn't stop staring at the broken-looking boy standing in front of him, with his hand outstretched to show off his latest "Dalmation Spot" with a smile.

Evie stood next to him, confused. She'd noticed the marks, but never pressed on about them with questions like Jay often did. She figured he didn't want to talk about them—she didn't like talking about her own injuries.

"You see? This _proves_ Mom loves me." Carlos pulled his hand back, glancing back at the scabbed-over dot in the center of his palm. "She's marked me. Like one of her favorite furs—the Dalmation fur. I don't really like that one, just because, you know, Dalmations are _d-o-g-s_ , but still, it's nice. It matches the other ones, do you wanna see?" He gripped his jacket, ready to pull it off should Jay or Evie have the curiosity to look at the others that spread across his sides and rib-cage and chest, or the ones across his lower back, or the few that mark up his calves and thighs. _She loves me more every time she does it_ , Carlos thought every time she approached him with a cigar, _every time_.

The blue-haired princess shook her head, "We're fine, Carlos. No need."

Jay quickly pushed down the want to see Carlos shirtless—the cigarette burns would have drawn too much focus from the _actual_ decent thing Cruella's given Carlos: his looks. Sure, Jay sometimes found Carlos... _physically appealing_... and he had to give credit where credit was do. Carlos' genes were great ones. At least half of those genes were from the psychotic bitch that would later _mark up_ the perfection she carried for nine months until Carlos' birth. Jay was starting to wonder if Cruella was jealous of her son's looks—but that seemed too "Evil Queen" for Cruella.

All he knew was that Carlos loved his mother for making him look more like a Dalmatian. This wasn't right. (But it's not like Jay knew what _right_ looked like—he doubted anyone on the island knew what it looked like. Carlos sure as hell doesn't.)

"I don't get it." Evie admitted. "How are you not reeling around in pain? I mean—some of my beauty treatments hurt like hell, and, yet, you're just peachy." Carlos could sense a bit of jealousy in her voice. He smiled, _she's interested_. "I mean, I know pain is easy to get used to—we're living proof of that—but, like, _burning flesh_ is something I hardly have to deal with. You know, unless Mother, or I, for that matter, mix up a vile of perfume with acid or something."

Carlos' smile didn't falter, surprisingly. "Sometimes—on those rare occasions when I can _truly tell_ when Mom's being genuine with her love, I kind of, I guess, _like_ the feeling of the burns. It's... oddly soothing, to say the least."

Jay was horrified. Evie was intrigued. And Mal was busting through the door, with a little mini-Carlos trudging in behind her.

She seemed pleasantly surprised all three were here in the foyer, so she didn't have to go looking for them. Right away she could hear the pleasure-filled moans echoing throughout the mansion. No doubt Cruella was having some of her own fun. Carlos, Evie, and Jay looked like they'd grown used to the sound by that point. Mal wondered if they even noticed by now.

"Mal! Finally!" Evie shuffled to her best partner-in-crime, but she stopped when she noticed the head of shadowy-black with tufts of crisp, snow-colored white. "Who's this?"

"— _Dillon_!" Carlos answered, rather quickly, as he pushed past Jay and Evie and Mal. "What are you doing here?!"

He didn't even want to know why he was with Mal.

"She-e said y-you two w-were budd-d-dies." Dillon glanced over at Mal, who was now standing with Evie against the wall, while Jay was left in the open space, straddling on the line separating the foyer from the living room. Dillon's eyes went back to his older cousin, "S-she helped m-me-e."

Mal kind of wished Dillon hadn't admitted that. She sucked in a breath, and waited as Carlos turned to face her. Concern was practically _bleeding_ from his face.

"What'd you do...?" Carlos turned back towards Dillon, and then back at Mal, "How'd you help him?"

 _Do I tell him?_ , Mal thought, _do I tell him my mother's henchman had raped his little cousin, and that I simply walked past the scene like it wasn't even happening? Do I tell him I abandoned Dillon as he was crying for help? Only to get help the next day after the deed had already been done—and probably repeated over and over again?_

Mal closed her eyes, and breathed back out: "He was lost. He reminded me of you, you know, with the hair and freckles and stuff, and I decided to be somewhat helpful and get him back here." Carlos was now staring at Dillon—taking note of his bloodied-things: his torn and button-less shirt, his stained underwear and wobbly legs. He knew now, he knew what Dillon had gone through. What _he_ , himself, would have gone through had his mother not had the idea to keep him "innocent" until further notice.

He knew Dillon's experience was like Jay's.

(The only soul who knew about Jay's childhood "job", besides his father and his "clients", was Carlos. Jay's secrets were Carlos' secrets, for all he was concerned. _Except_ the secret Mal and him were apart of—which, according to her, her mother, and his father, must not be shared with _anyone_. Not even Carlos— _or else_.)

"Who did this to you...?" Carlos bent down, watching the emerald-green eyes his cousin possessed carefully. Dillon was never a great liar—his eyes always gazed out when he lied, and, when it's one of those big lies, his eyes would twitch, and he'd blink a lot faster than normal. "Who raped you, Dillon?"

The younger de Vil spoke softly, but, to Mal's surprise, his stutter was nonexistent. "He told me to cry out ' _Uklek_ ' every time he pushed back into me—I guess that was his name." The purple-haired girl's face hardened, Uklek was one of her mother's main-henchmen, along with Dorgu and Vum. Now, Mal certainly knew who the next person her green eyes were gonna scare the living shit out of was: Uklek. Before she could fully-seethe with rage, however, she softened her appearance—Dillon was looking at her.

It seemed like he witnessed the emerald fire that made her eyes glow.

He was trembling.

"Who the hell is Uklek?" Carlos nearly-shouted. He'd carefully taken off his jacket and wrapped it around Dillon's shoulders. "It sounds like someone sneezing or something."

Evie stepped forward, harboring a gentle smile towards Carlos' cousin—he had dimples and that was adorable to her. "I don't know, but that's an ugly name, but, you know, it's fitting—he must be an ugly and horrible person for doing what he did." She grew serious, a little too serious for Jay's taste: his mind was reeling with memories of his father and his childhood job. "And we're gonna find him—trust me. I'm Evie, by the way. This," she turned to Jay, "is Jay—we're friends with your cousin. Now, are you the brother of Diego, or is he a cousin, too?"

"Diego's m-my older b-bro-brother." Dillon glanced back down at the floor. His stutter was back. "Y-you guys seem older than Car-los...?"

Evie nodded, "Mal, Jay, and I are sixteen."

"I'm al-almost eleven. N-next week's my b-birthday."

"I remember my eleventh birthday—my mother and I baked just about a thousand-or-so non-fat, non-sugary, non-ugly cookies. They tasted terrible, of course, and I was forced to throw them back up, but, still, it was nice before then. Certainly nicer than my sixth birthday, for sure." Evie side-eyed Mal, who rolled her eyes in response.

Dillon smiled, "I m-must've been al-almost one, b-by then."

"Yeah, you were there before all the shit happened," Carlos crossed his arms, and continued on, "Diego had taken both of us. My mother certainly wouldn't. You started crying because of Maleficent-knows-what and Diego had to take you home. Leaving me. I then watched as Maleficent rained her terror upon the party, scared the fucking shit outta me, which, occasionally, results in recurring nightmares; even now, ten-fucking-years later. Ask E, she's got 'em, too."

Evie pushed forward, placing a gentle hand on Carlos' hand, "C, chill."

The freckled-teen shrugged off her hand; his partners-in-crime have overstayed their welcome. "Alright guys, it's time for everybody to leave. Dillon, come on, I'm taking you home."

"C-can I stay here? Just for t-to-tonight?" His green eyes lit up like Mal's did when she saw something of interest. This interest being a nice, _cozy_ , place to sleep. (Even though Carlos found nothing about the de Vil mansion "nice" or "cozy". Especially when his mother, Dillon's aunt, was having a rather long "business-meeting" that would last well into the night and, possibly, ending after dawn.)

"No." Carlos had started to zip up his jacket around Dillon's frame.

"Please...?"

" _No_."

" _Pleeeaaasssseeeeee_...?"

"Dillon—"

" _C-CARLOS, PLEEEEEEAAAASSSSEEEEEEE_...?!"

"..." Carlos bowed his head in defeat, sighing audibly. "Fine."

Jay snickered from behind, resulting in an elbow-jab from Evie, who'd been tugging at her blue locks while Dillon begged his cousin to let him spend the night. Mal had droned out by now—her head was beginning to hurt.

"Wanna sleep in my room? Or do you wanna have a sleepover in the attic?" Carlos knew the answer: the attic.

"Fuck that. No way in hell am _I_ going through that shit again. No more scaling rooftops. Once is more than enough for this Princess." Evie gripped the hem of her skirt, "Never, _ever_ , again." She ignored the protests from Jay, who'd already recalled his strip-tease, and the fact that she _loved_ it. "We can stay in Carlos' room."

"It is _barely_ a room, Evie. The attic has more space." Mal replied, rolling her shoulders. There was a twisted-feeling in her gut, but she chose to ignore it. And her tattoo was starting to tingle; she subtly scraped her arm against a wall, satisfying and stopping the annoying bugger of an itch. She drew her attention back to the group and suddenly met Dillon's eyes— _glowing green_. He blinked, and they were back to normal. Mal held her breath, and stilled in her spot.

Dillon hadn't noticed his eyes. But he noticed her distress, earning her a concerned glance back from the young de Vil brat.

" _I'm fine_ ," she mouthed, silently. Even though after witnessing that she was far from fine. Carlos, Evie, and Jay weren't paying attention to her, so they didn't notice. They were still arguing about sleeping over in the attic or Carlos' broom-closet of a room.

Evie dropped her hands back down to her sides, sighing, "Whatever. I've gotta go back home and drop off stuff for my mother."

"Same, for my dad." Jay followed her out.

Mal took a second to process what she missed—she thinks Carlos had told them to come back later, and that they'll decide then. She stepped forward, giving one last glance at Dillon, before following her fellow sixteen-year-olds out of the mansion. Her eyes sank to the ground after hearing the large doors close behind her, and Carlos murmuring out a badbye.

* * *

She'd barely made it back to the Bargain Castle before sundown. The door creaked as she slid it open, as gingerly as possible, to pull herself through and lock the door back. She heard the squawk of a raven, and rolled her eyes. "Dammit," Mal muttered.

Her back was turned to the black-eyed creature, but she could feel it's glare.

"What, Diablo?" Mal waved her hand at the bird, rolling her shoulders as she strolled past him, readying herself to climb the rickety stairs up to her bedroom. She just wanted to lie down for a few minutes—to process this whole _Dillon_ -thing and his green eyes. Her purple covers and pillows would surely be comforting and allow for the simplest way to soothe her mind, if not her entire body. Maybe it'll even satisfy her unruly itch.

"de Vil!" The bird squawked, annoyingly. Mal froze—it sounding like... _him_. Dillon. It sounded like Dillon. "I'm not gonna hurt you," Mal's voice. "Why would I hurt my buddy's little cousin?" Still Mal's. She remembered herself saying those words earlier.

The teenager turned ever so slowly, her eyes narrowed and bloodthirsty. Her mother. Her mother sent that bird to spy on her—to watch her and her partner-in-crimes. Oh, she was so pissed. So fucking pissed. The winged, black rat heard Dillon's voice, mimicked him, and did the same to her—mimicked her in a state where she wasn't at her evilest—in a state where she sounded kind and caring, her voice soft and safe. Oh, how her mother would go ballistic.

Mal wasn't sure if the raven had told her mother. But she was sure he had. He was her mother's animal. Her shadowy beast that did her bidding. The black to her purple and green. The crow to her fairy. The raven to her dragon.

"Diablo, have you told my mother these words...?" She inched closer to the beady-eyed mongrel.

He stayed silent. She jumped at him, her fingers ever-so-close to grabbing a leg. But the blasted animal ascended into the rafters that held the crumbling roof and disappeared in the shadows. From it's hiding spot, he echoed out: "I-I'm fine. I'm f-f-fine. I d-don't need any help-p." Dillon's voice. Was the raven playing games with her? Was he giving her hints?

She mentally shrugged; this couldn't bother her anymore than it already did. She gave up and climbed the stairs to her room, where she would lay in bed and drift off into an awful, nightmare-fueled nap. Ah, back to normal.

* * *

Jay hardly got an approving glance from his father after showing up with all his loot. Barge Day was a fucking bust. Jafar guessed the Auradonians were just being stingy now. They _barely_ got anything valuable enough to flaunt off to the rest of the island. And that irked Jafar. Greatly. So much in fact that Jafar would bring Jay into his back room, filled with old, empty boxes and crates filled with nothing but decade-old dust, and he'd _smack_ and _spank_ and _whip_ and _flick_ and _grip_ and _pull_ and _scratch_ and _cut_ and finally _sell_ his son throughout the hours from sundown to sunrise. Sometimes longer.

But today—today of all days—Jafar _didn't_. And that scared Jay. Scared him so much in fact that Jay thought his father would do something _worse_ just when he least expected it; like when he was attempting to gain a few hours of sleep in his closet, or when he was heading out to go meet with his friends. Jay expected his father to stop him from venturing back out—to Cruella's mansion—into the night. But he didn't. Jafar didn't gripe at him or hit him.

In fact... Jafar _waved_ him off.

 _Waved_.

Jay couldn't help but feel that he was going to regret ever letting his guard down. But, ever so cautiously, after separating himself from his father by at least a hundred yards or so, _he did_. Jay relaxed his muscles and headed straight for Carlos'. He knew he'd be early. But... that thought only made him walk faster, doing his best to get there even _earlier_. All he knew was that the more time he was with Carlos, the less he felt down.

The more time he was with Carlos... the better. And that was enough for him. Plus, after learning more about Carlos' _taste_ for dotted-burns, he mentally told himself to check in on the fourteen-year-old more often. He just hoped Carlos didn't mind him showing up early.

Hell Hall was in sight—the towers and ridges of roof he scaled were plain as day. He walked a few more feet, beyond a building, and could see the mansion in all it's terrifying glory. The big red doors looked as _inviting_ as ever (not.) and the pure scale of the towers that loomed seemingly-hundreds of feet in the air were far too mind-boggling and stomach-upsetting for Jay's taste. But what did he know—his father's shop was only one story tall and he spent most of his time crammed in a tiny closet, under the weight of broken television sets.

Maybe tall things in general just... _didn't work for him_. (The only reason he was calm atop the roof was so he could get Carlos and the girls to safety. But he'd never admit to _that_.)

And maybe that's the reason that Carlos _did work for him_. He was a whole head taller than the freckled-teen, after all.

(Which was a fact that drove poor _little_ Carlos up the wall with annoyance, of course.)

He knocked on the door—the blood-red paint was beginning to chip under his knuckles, revealing the blackened, rotting wood underneath. A few minutes passed before the door creaked open against it's will and Jay saw his favorite partner-in-crime. He smiled glumly up at Jay, and welcomed him in.

"You're early," chided Carlos.

"I know," replied Jay.

Carlos pushed the door back into it's original place and tugged Jay along up to the attic. They passed the Cruella portrait—Jay _tried_ to ignore her bare breasts, he really did—and then climbed the stairs. A good time later, and the duo was greeted by Dillon up in the attic. He was sitting by the window they had used for their means of escape, watching what he could.

Jay slugged the kid gently on the shoulder, "Hey, squirt."

"Hey."

Dillon gave him an affirmative nod, before returning back to the window. Jay left the boy and walked over to Carlos, who was leaning against the opposite wall, staring at him. "What?" Jay asked, crossing his arms. Staring meant analyzing. And analyzing meant people were curious, suspicious. And that only meant that they were on to Jay—on to his schemes. It was different with Carlos, though. Was Carlos curious?

Jay paled at the thought.

Carlos. _Curious_.

 _Hopefully_ , Jay thought, _Carlos won't ask too many questions. Especially ones that Jay didn't have the answers to_.

"Nothing. Just thinkin' about what game should we play to pass the time before Evie and Mal show up." Carlos crossed his right leg over his left, and crossed his arms to match Jay's. "Or something else? Wanna play 'The Thief and the Victim' again?" Oh, how Jay loved that game. Carlos came up with it a few days after he helped Jay with snatching a few rotten apples back in the bazaar. "I could be the victim, again, and you can be the thief. If Dillon wants to play, he can be a bystander. Or another victim. Or, or, maybe your _accomplice_."

Jay didn't like the way Carlos always naturally took on the role of the victim. He was evil like the rest of them—he's a damn evil genius, for Maleficent's sake!—and he could hold his own with his unmatched intelligence. He was one of the Rotten four; he shouldn't be a victim, he should be feared! Carlos knew how to act tough—to show his true dark side to those who _dare_ to witness it—and he knew how to trick people. Not like Jay. Jay could _never_ do what Carlos does.

Carlos thinks. Logic is more of a friend to Carlos than Jay was. The de Vil boy thought his dark and twisted thoughts and put plans into action to see those become reality. He lives and breathes on horror—his mother aids in that department—and he can't help but add to the masses.

Jay knew Carlos was a chaotic evil. A _leashed_ chaotic evil. Jay knew Carlos was holding back... a dog's leash can only last for so long before it snaps and the monstrous growls emerge and the rabies spread from victim to victim. Carlos was gonna snap that leash one day, Jay knew it, and when it does, Jay knows he'll fall under the influence of such a vile evil. Oh, Jay knew. But Carlos didn't. Carlos took on the role of the victim. And he played it _well_. And Jay didn't like that.

"No," Jay muttered. "You be the thief. I'll be the victim. Dillon can be _your_ accomplice."

He didn't expect Carlos' eyes to sparkle as much as they did.

"Okay!" He clapped his hands, "So, uh, what am I trying to steal?" _Your heart?_ , Carlos thought, instinctively. _His beanie hat_. Jay loved that thing. _His gloves_. They were vital to stop slippery fingers, and to help his sticky ones. _His vest_. Stealing that wouldn't be easy. Not to mention Carlos would be practically all over him in an attempt to grab at it. To paw at it.

Jay broke his train of thought. "A lock of my hair."

"What...?" Carlos gasped—not his hair. "No way. Your hat. I can steal your hat." He certainly wasn't gonna steal a lock of Jay's hair. That was absurdly ridiculous. He didn't even have scissors up here in the attic. And, even if he did, there wasn't anything that'd make him cut off Jay's luscious hair. (Carlos wasn't jealous of Jay's hair. Not at all.)

"That's too easy."

"Perfect. I'm still new at thievery. Gimme the easy stuff—your hat. Your hair is _not_ easy." Besides, Jay would get super pissy about it later when his hair didn't even out; Carlos chose to ignore the pit in his stomach when thinking about what _Jafar_ would do to Jay if he noticed. Jafar liked petting Jay's hair ever-so-often, Carlos remembered. It happened once with Carlos there, and, instinctively, Jay shrugged it off as a normal occurrence. Like it was no big deal.

(Carlos failed to recognize that he too was guilty of such acts, if his _Dalmatian_ _spots_ were any indication.)

Jay rolled his shoulders and scoffed, "Fine, newb. You and Dillon have gotta snatch my hat and make haste over to that corner of the room," he pointed at the far corner, near Dillon, "before I can snatch my hat back. If I get it back before you get to the corner, you lose."

"What's the punishment if we lose? And what if we win? Do we get an award?" Carlos crossed his arms, "I think if Dillon and I win, _you_ will have to... do whatever we say for the rest of the night."

"Okay. Fine. But if I _win_ , you two will have to do everything _I_ say for the rest of the night."

"You're on!" Cried Dillon, who was already marching right over to the older boys. His eyes were sparkling and he was determined to win. Carlos took him by the shoulder and motioned up at Jay with his eyes and a shrug.

"We're stealing his hat, okay?" Carlos stated, matter of fact. Dillon nodded, and eyed his enemy; Jay smirked down at him with a ' _Bring it on, de Vil_ ' look. Carlos recognized it often—Jay usually gave him the same look when Carlos would say he'd grow taller than Jay one day. He could almost reach Jay's eyes when he managed to _accidentally_ step up and onto Jay's bigger feet. Not that he noticed or anything. _Pfft_.

All three of them got into "attack mode," two on one and one on two.

 _Ready_ , Carlos thought, _set..._ " _Go!_ " All three lunged forward.

* * *

Evie sat patiently in the chair in the center of the room, waiting for her mother to show her face and sift through the items she snagged from the barge. _Sit up straight_ , she reminded herself, _don't frown—wrinkles. Don't smile, either. Ah, there, perfect_. Her mother typically wanted to try a few of the products on Evie first, either to make her one and only daughter more attractive or to test whether or not some ill-intentioned Auradonian had added a few more harmful chemicals to the beauty-products. The Evil Queen couldn't possibly show her face to the rest of the island if it had been somehow marred with horrible chemicals—not that she showed her face to the rest of the island that much these days.

Her mother was taking her sweet-ol'-time, though. At this rate Mal will beat her back to Hell Hall, despite taking a nap rife with nightmares and horribleness. Evie never minded being _fashionably_ late—but this was pushing it. _Maybe mother just... forgot?_ Evie asked herself. _No... no. Mother never forgets her urgent eyeliner shortages, or any other make-up catastrophes. Something must be wrong_. Evie rose from her seat, eyes weary and fingers shaking.

Quickly, but not rushed—she couldn't get sweaty, not with this eyeshadow—she made her way down corridor after corridor until she reached her mother's chambers. Evie, holding her breath, knocked tentatively. "M-mother...?" No answer.

She knocked again, louder. No answer.

 _Okay, fuck this_. She twisted the rusty knob and pushed the heavy door open. The blackness of the room gave her a little bit of relief. _Maybe Mother is just sleeping. Maybe she pulled a Mal_. She widened the door, letting the candle-light from the hall shine into the room, granting Evie the ability to see most of the shapes in the chamber—her mother's cracked vanity, her busted wardrobe, her worn-down bed— _mother!_ Evie could barely see the outline of plumpness under the covers, but it was definitely her mother's shape.

(Not that she'd ever tell her _that_ , of course.)

"Mother!" Evie stepped further into the dimly-lit room, before kneeling down onto the bed and gently shaking her. The Evil Queen never liked being awoken, it startled her, and getting startled did not help with wrinkles. But Evie didn't care, not at the moment. "Mother—Mother, wake up!" It was then that Evie finally noticed her mother's eyes. Grimhilde was wide-eyed and her mouth was agape. Her skin was a colorless gray, like the sky every day here on the Isle. Evie, also wide-eyed and gasping, finally realized just how _cold_ her mother was. She was colder than the castle basement every winter. Colder than Maleficent's personality. Almost as cold as... _death_. Evie quickly began to panic, "M-mom...? M-mom... m-mommy...!"

She continued to shake her mother—hoping, _begging_ for her body to warm up, her skin to get some color, and her eyes to look up at her sobbing daughter and show her that she was fine; that she was alright. But what happened instead shook Evie to her rotten little core.

A crisp-white paper slid out her mother's hands, which had been propped up onto Grimhilde's stomach, and fell down at her side.

Evie's watery-eyes barely saw it. Gingerly, she picked up the folded note and opened it up. Scribbles were on it—Evie guessed the author of the note didn't have the best calligraphy, just like most of those stuck here—the words were purple and green, skipping over each other.

 _To the Daughter of the Evil Queen,_

 _She deserved it. You shouldn't be upset—you knew your mother better (which means you probably got the worst of it) than most—she never treated you the way you should have been treated. Evil may run through our veins, sweetheart, but you and your partners-in-crime know there's certainly more to you all than just being "bad to the bone." Some of you just haven't realized that yet; but you will, with some help. I did you a favor, Evie._

 _So you should do one for me._

 _See you soon, Princess._

The note silently slipped through Evie's numb fingers—tears reached the floor before the thin paper could.

* * *

Mal heard someone groping at her door, rapping at it with long fingernails and what hinted at annoyance. _Ah, dearest Mother's home_. Mal shifted her weight onto her side as she twisted herself out of the sea of magenta and dark purple covers, before pushing herself of the edge of the bed and stepping over to the rickety old door. She felt for the knob—her eyes were still sleepy and tired—and pulled the door open. And there she was: the Mistress of All Evil herself, standing at right about her daughter's height (the confines of this island didn't do anything for her height at all), in all her villainous glory.

"Yes, Mother?" Mal yawned out, she should probably get going if she was gonna make it to Hell Hall by midnight.

Maleficent smirked her usual-smirk and snapped her fingers, motioning for her dearest daughter to follow her down the stairs and into the main room. Diablo, despite being a bird, mimicked his master's sickening smirk. Mal hated that animal with a passion—she had so many wonderful nightmares about plucking that crow featherless. _One day, you flying rat. One day_.

Her mother didn't like to start explaining why she dragged her out of bed until after she found her comfortable spot on her patchwork-throne-like chair. But this time, Maleficent just stared at her groggy daughter.

"Well, what is it?" Mal griped. She had to get going soon—she didn't want to keep everyone waiting. She wanted to study the little de Vil more closely, because something was up. She just couldn't put her finger on _what_ , exactly. "Or can I go?" She hoped for the latter—she's too tired to deal with her mother if she was upset about something, which she probably was; she usually is.

Maleficent's face perked up. "Oh? Going to _hang_ with your little... mongrels-in-crime, or whatever you call them?"

"My partners." Corrected Mal. Her mother knew full well they were her _partners_.

"Right, right—your _partners_." Maleficent scoffed. "Honestly, Mal, I don't know why you frolic around with those wannabes. Especially the one that's the son of Cruella fucking de Vil—who didn't even die all those years ago, mind you. I respect, _to a degree_ , to a _low_ degree, the other two's parents—Jafar and Grimhilde. They died all those years ago, along with yours truly, and _came back_! Cruella—well, I'm pretty sure all that happened to her was that she got thwarted by a litter of puppies and a fucking _skunk_ , along with those two bumbling idiots she calls her own ' _partners-in-crime_ '." Maleficent rolled her eyes and made a gagging expression. "No progeny of mine should be partnering up with a _de Vil_. I mean, my goblins, that old black-and-white crazy crone thinks that _she_ , of all people, deserves the last name _de Vil_. Please. I'm pretty sure that I, the Mistress of All Evil, a living _dragon_ , would be much more fit to bear the title of _de Vil_."

Mal crossed her arms and smirked. _Well then_. "Wow, Mother. Jealousy is _not_ a good color on you." Oh, how Mal loved the sight of her mother's eyes widening and her nostrils flaring. "And for your information, Cruella's son is pretty damn smart—smart enough to punch a fucking hole in the barrier for a good while—and he even has the balls to tell _me_ that _you_ are no dragon."

Oh, Maleficent was pissed. Pissed right off.

Maleficent sprung from her seat and launched at her daughter, forcing Mal back a few steps before her mother's hand (which would certainly be sporting her evil magic if it wasn't for the barrier) finally collided with her face. The resounding _smack_ danced across the house, loud enough to earn a small cry from Diablo. "You seem awfully defensive over someone who's _just_ a partner-in-crime. Oh, wait. I do recall Diablo informing me that the de Vil is now referred to as a _buddy_ of sorts. That explains it."

Silent, Mal stared at the floor. Her cheek was burning—a bright red color blossomed into a hand-shape across her face, stinging like a bitch—there would certainly be a big, obvious bruise there in a few hours.

Maleficent continued on. "I woke you up from your pleasant little nightmares to tell you that Auradon's Soon-to-be-King has his precious, princely little eyes on you and your partners-in-crime. But I'll explain to you more about that _gag-inducing_ subject later, after you go off and play with your little mongrels, and after you learn to respect the woman that gave birth to you. Or you'll regret it—and so will your friends; I'd hate to have to show that cocky little de Vil just how much _dragon_ is still in me... oh, who am I kidding, I'd _love_ it." The woman swiftly grabbed hold of her daughter's jaw, gripping it tight and making sure to dig her nails with _just_ enough pressure to draw a little blood. The woman shrugged, "I'm sure he would to—isn't he a sucker for a little _pain and pleasure_? What with all those cigar-burns."

Mal yanked away from her mother, her eyes glowing that glorious-green. "I'm leaving." She turned to walk out of the main room and down the steps to the front door.

"Please," Maleficent smirked, " _do_."

* * *

 **I'd like to thank you all for your wonderful support of this story, and I hope the long waits between updates hasn't driven all of you away. Again, I'm so sorry.**

 **Also, to answer _Guest 123_ 's question: Fret not, this story is planned to continue on into Auradon.**

 **And, a few people have asked whether or not Evie/Carlos or Jay/Carlos is happening because both have been seemingly getting some decent focus. (Hopefully the end of this chapter filled the Mal/Carlos tag, too.) To be completely honest, everyone's with everyone, so to speak. _That's polyamory for you, kids._ (I doubt that's the exact definition, but still—no one's completely with one person in this story. But, right now in the story, no one's with anyone. So yeah.)**

 **Alright! I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I hope you tune in next time for what's soon to come! Reviews are always appreciated! Thanks for reading!**


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